


Laying on Hands

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, Romance, Song Lyrics, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-19
Updated: 1998-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of a debilitating injury, Blair turns to a faith healer for help, much to Jim's dismay.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into two parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into two parts.

##  Laying on Hands 

by  
Annabelle Leigh  


Disclaimers: The characters from The Sentinel do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little non-profit romance and adventure. No copyright infringement intended. 

Notes: Very special thanks to Rie, Sharon D and Rayden for being such fabulous beta readers and for giving me so much help on this story. As always, I welcome feedback of all sorts. 

Warnings: RELIGION WARNING! This story contains extensive references to Christianity. It involves description of Christian worship, certain aspects of the faith that are outside the mainstream (faith healing), and a rather liberal interpretation of some Bible passages. If this bothers you or that the Christian belief envisioned here embraces a loving homosexual relationship (yes, I realize that's most often not the case in the real world), then please, for both our sakes, spare yourself reading this. It's not my intention to offend anyone's sensibilities--either religious or sensual. There's also h/c and angst. If I haven't scared you off, I hope you enjoy the story! 

* * *

Laying on Hands - part one 

Blair leaned into the hot spray of the shower, supporting his weight against the tiled wall, trying to take some of the burden off the bad knee. It hurt anyway. There was nothing new in that. He washed his hair, conditioned it, soaped up his body, all the while trying to avoid looking at the injured leg, trying to pretend it was not the knotted, twisted, discolored flesh that it was, trying not to think of himself as damaged beyond repair. 

But the pain wouldn't let him forget, the constant, nagging ache that was always with him. He directed the hot water against the knee, hoping the warmth would loosen it up a bit, that maybe it wouldn't hurt quite as much as it had yesterday and the day before that and every last minute of the five weeks since he'd gotten out of the hospital. 

Jim knocked on the door. "Hey, Chief. We're gonna be late. Can you pick up the pace?" 

He sighed. "Yeah, Jim. I'll be right there." 

Blair closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the last moments of warmth. And quickly opened them again. It was as if the image of the blast had been burned onto his retinas. Every time he closed his eyes, there it was again--the white hot flash of the explosion, the terrible force, the flying debris as dangerous and deadly as any bullet. And with the images always came the remembrance of that sharp searing pain, the ghost of the agony he'd felt that day in the warehouse. 

It had just been a routine search, the police looking for drugs on an anonymous tip. But suddenly something had gone terribly wrong, a booby trap set off. The blast had not been so powerful that it had done major damage, at least not to the building or to any of the others. But for Blair...well, for him, it had been devastating. When he closed his eyes, he could still remember, as if it had happened just yesterday, the sick combination of shock and pain as the metal shard embedded itself in his knee, throwing him to the ground, causing him to twist in agony. 

He turned off the water and got out of the shower, reaching for a towel. He shivered with chill, but it was not from the cold air. This icy feeling came from inside him, leaden and fearful. He felt balanced on the fine edge of a chasm, ready to fall, poised to lose everything he had or at least what he valued most. 

//Pick up the pace.// That seemed to be the world's message to him these days. He could feel the impatience coming off strangers unfortunate enough to get stuck behind him in the grocery aisle or going up the stairs at the university. //Can't you pick up the pace?// He could feel their eyes boring into him, impatiently. But the answer was no, he _couldn't_ , no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried. 

Blair dragged his uncooperative body to the sink to shave. He looked into the mirror and saw one scared man staring back at him. Every time he went in for physical therapy, Jim always made some comment about how he was improving, how he'd soon be walking normally again, be back to his old self, just fine, perfectly healed. Jim always said it with the same grim determination, as if that would make it true. Blair got the same sick, desperate feeling in the pit of his stomach each time, because it wasn't happening. He wasn't getting better, the knee wasn't healing, the limp wasn't disappearing. But he could see his future vanishing right before his very eyes, and apparently he wasn't the only one. Every time he went to the station, he could feel Simon and the other detectives in Major Crimes give him that long look of appraisal as he made his way across the bullpen, as if they were wondering just how much longer he'd be around. 

It made him want to scream at his body. //Heal! Damn you!// The voice in his head was beginning to take on a hysterical edge. It was just that he knew the score all too well. If the knee didn't get better, there was no way the department would let him continue to work out in the field, and that seemed to him to put his entire future with Jim in jeopardy. It depressed the hell out of him that after all these years he was still fighting for his place by Jim's side, that he could lose it so easily. He'd told Jim repeatedly that it was about friendship, but he'd never received that message back from him. No, it appeared that for Jim it was about usefulness. And if Blair didn't get better, he'd be of little help. He couldn't imagine what kind of relationship they'd have if that happened. Or if there would be any relationship at all. 

Blair wrapped a towel around his waist, went to his room, got dressed. He made his way out to the kitchen to grab a quick glass of juice. Jim was standing by the door, waiting for him, watching him with narrowed eyes, taking in the exaggerated way he favored the right leg. But he said nothing. Blair drank his juice and washed out the glass. 

"Ready, Chief?" Jim asked, some edge in his voice, impatience maybe, like the strangers stuck behind Blair in the stacks at the library, just wanting him to pick up the pace already. 

Blair nodded. 

//No. It wasn't going to be much longer.// 

* * *

Working with Jim had made Blair a veteran of many crime scenes, but none of them had seemed as...well, just plain wrong as a murder committed in a church. //Some people just have no shame.// 

The minister, Reverend Leonard Cleveland, had discovered the body when he'd stopped by to pick up some notes from his office. It was Larry Randolph, the church custodian, who'd come in early that morning to clean the sanctuary and freshen the flowers on the altar. That's where the body had been found, on the floor in front of the altar, like some kind of horrific sacrifice, one side of his skull smashed in, a heavy silver candlestick covered in blood nearby, apparently the murder weapon. 

"I can't believe this. I just can't believe it. Lord, help us," Reverend Cleveland kept saying over and over. 

Blair put a comforting hand on the elderly man's arm. "You've got Cascade's finest working the case, sir. They'll find out who did this." 

"I just don't know what kind of person...I mean, Larry was a simple, good-hearted soul. Not an enemy in the world. And to do such a thing here, of all places? I'll never understand the wickedness that lurks in the heart of man to make somebody do a thing like this." 

Blair didn't know what to say to that. There really was no answer. It was one of the most brutal truths in life--that evil did, in fact, exist in the world. For Blair, that realization had been one of the hardest parts of working with Jim. 

"Reverend Cleveland?" Jim said, joining them. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison with the Cascade Police. I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." 

The pale-faced man nodded. "Of course, detective. I want to cooperate in any way I can. We have to find out who did this terrible thing to Larry." 

"We will, sir. Now can you tell me exactly what happened this morning?" 

"I came to the church, about ten o'clock. When I got here, the door was already open, which was unusual. Larry usually comes in pretty early on Mondays to clean the church after the services on Sunday, and he always locks up again when he's done. So when the door was unlocked, I thought he must be running late. But then I came into the sanctuary and found him..." the minister said, his voice trailing off painfully. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I just need to ask a few more questions. Did you notice anyone hanging around the church, anything out of the ordinary?" 

Reverend Cleveland shook his head. "No, nothing at all." 

"Can you tell me what you know about Mr. Randolph?" 

"Good heavens, I can tell you everything there is to know about him. Larry grew up in the church. I baptized him myself. His mother had a hard labor with him, and he was born with brain damage, had trouble learning, never did have much more than the mind of a child really. But he was always such a sweet boy. Everybody liked him. When he was old enough, we gave him a job tending the church. He was a good worker, liked everything to be just so, especially the flowers. His father died when he was just a little boy, and he lived with his mother until she died two years ago. Since then, he's lived at a group home over on Avedon, a nice place with a lot of other young people like him and nice people on staff. The church took up a special fund to help cover the expenses, on top of what we paid him for his salary. He was such a harmless person, detective. And it's not like he had any money for anyone to steal. Why on earth would anybody want to do such a horrible thing to that poor, sweet boy?" 

Jim shook his head. "I don't know yet. But trust me, Reverend Cleveland, I will find out. I promise." 

"You do that, young man. You do that. And may the Lord help you in your search." 

"Thank you, sir. One last thing. Has anybody new joined the church recently? Is there anybody you don't know well?" 

"Well, yes...but he wouldn't have had anything to do with this." 

"Who, Reverend?" 

"We haven't had any new members to the church in a while now, other than babies that have been born. But we do have a guest minister visiting us this week, leading us in our revival. Reverend Harker. He's quite an inspirational speaker and has a true gift for healing. So many have been helped already. We're expecting folks from as far away as Seattle and Vancouver. We're very honored to have such a servant of the Lord visit our humble congregation. He's...oh, there he is now," Reverend Cleveland waved to the man at the far end of the sanctuary. "Walter, oh Walter, the most terrible thing has happened." 

The other minister--much younger, in his early thirties, light brown hair, balding, fairly nondescript in appearance--quickly joined them, putting a hand on Reverend Cleveland's back to steady him. "I saw all the commotion outside, Leonard. What's happened?" the man asked, in a thick, deep Southern accent. 

Reverend Cleveland wrung his hands, the haunted look returning to his face. "Our Larry...Larry Randolph that takes care of the church for us...I found him dead here this morning. Murdered." 

Reverend Harker paled. "Oh, my God! Has anyone figured out who's responsible?" 

"That's just what we're working on now, Mr. Harker," Jim said. "Reverend Cleveland, we're finished for the moment. But if we have further questions, I'll need to come back." 

"Of course, detective. I'm here anytime you need me. Well, I suppose I need to start letting people know the terrible news. And Lord, I hate to even think about it, but we'll need to get someone in here to clean the...it's too late to postpone the opening night of the revival. There'll be too many people already on their way." 

"We'll let you know when we're finished with the crime scene," Jim told him. 

"I'll be glad to help you in any way I can, Leonard," Reverend Harker offered. 

"Oh, I'd surely appreciate that, Walter. Maybe you could..." 

"Actually, I'm going to need Mr. Harker for just a moment first, Reverend Cleveland," Jim said and turned to the younger minister. "You wouldn't mind answering a few questions, would you?" 

"Well, no sir. Of course not. But..." 

"Fine then," he said. "And Reverend Cleveland, I promise we'll just keep him a minute." 

"Well, all right then. I'll be in my office, Walter. If you wouldn't mind..." 

"Of course not. I'll be there as soon as I can." 

The older minister nodded gratefully and headed off to perform his difficult task. 

"So, Detective..." 

"Ellison," Jim told him. 

"And..." Reverend Harker turned to Blair. 

He extended his hand. "Blair Sandburg. I'm an observer with the department." 

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Sandburg," the minister said, shaking his hand, and Blair could have sworn he felt the weirdest pulse of energy shoot up his arm. 

"Uh, Blair, please," he said, momentarily flustered by the strange sensation. 

If Reverend Harker noticed, he didn't react. "Blair then," he said, his Georgia drawl putting an extra syllable in the middle of the word. "And I usually go by Walter." 

"So, Mr. Harker, my questions..." Jim said, impatiently. 

Blair couldn't help noticing the tone in Jim's voice and the fact that he didn't address the man as "Reverend." //How not surprising. Jim's probably gonna start investigating the guy for fraud.// 

Walter ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "Yes sir, of course. But I'm not sure how much insight I can offer. I expect Reverend Cleveland's already told you I'm only here this week for the revival." 

"Yes, but we need to talk to everyone who had access to the church. So you're here to lead the revival and also to heal people?" 

"Yes sir, that's right. I'm blessed to be able to serve the Lord in that way." 

"So you lay on the hands, and people just miraculously recover? Is that your claim?" Jim asked, disbelief and a hint of sarcasm evident in his voice. 

The minister regarded him tolerantly, a testament to his professional poise, or so Blair had to think. "Not quite, detective. You see, everybody has the power to heal themselves already inside them. I just kind of help out a little, nudge things along. Help them see it's been in their hands all along, if only they weren't afraid to be whole." 

Blair couldn't help but feel that the man was talking to him. He felt the minister's warm brown eyes on him, not intrusive or prying, but light and curious, filled with compassion. //It's as if he knows.// Blair thought, frowning. //But he couldn't know. I've been standing still the whole time. It only shows when I walk.// 

"I wouldn't think being whole would be something most people would find all that terrifying," Jim said. 

Walter smiled, somewhat enigmatically, a sparkle in his eye, the expression transforming his face entirely, making the man anything but nondescript. "You'd be surprised, detective. Very surprised, indeed." 

The minister smiled at Blair, and again, he had the distinct feeling that the man was talking specifically to him. 

"Where were you this morning, Mr. Harker?" Jim asked, in that direct, intimidating way of his. 

Walter looked at him sadly. "Do you consider me a suspect, detective? Because I want to lessen people's suffering?" 

"This is purely routine. We need to ascertain everyone's whereabouts at the time of the murder." 

"I see. Well, I'm staying down the road a piece at the Red Lion Inn. I went to breakfast about eight o'clock this morning, in the dining room there. Afterwards, I went back to my room to polish up my sermon a bit. Then I came to the church to get a look at where I'd be preaching. I usually like to do a practice run, give my talk from the pulpit before I inflict it on the people." 

"So, after you had breakfast, you went back to your room. Is there anybody who can confirm that for you?" 

"No sir, I'm afraid not. I was alone the whole time." 

"And that was how long? Close to two hours?" 

"That sounds about right. You know, detective, I do have to wonder if we'd be having this same talk if you didn't have such a deep mistrust of what I do. Maybe, if I talked about energy meridians and blocked chakras and the chi, and called what I do reiki therapy and charged two hundred dollars an hour for it, instead of calling on the power of Jesus and sharing my gift with anyone who needs it, maybe then you wouldn't feel the need to investigate me." 

"I wouldn't feel the need to investigate you, Mr. Harker, if somebody hadn't smashed in an innocent young man's skull." 

The minister just watched Jim for a long moment, as if trying to figure him out. Finally, he nodded. "Point taken, Detective Ellison. But why don't the two of you come tonight to our revival? It'd give you an opportunity to see what it's really like, the work we do." 

"That sounds kind of..." Blair began to say, the anthropologist in him stirring. 

"We won't be able to make it," Jim said firmly. 

"You won't believe how much good it does your heart to see people realize that there is help for any hurt, if you just know where to look, if you just have the courage to ask for it." 

This time Jim, too, seemed to feel that the message was directed at Blair. He put his body between the minister and his partner, sending a message of his own. "We'll contact you if we have any further questions." 

Jim put his hand on Blair's back, guiding him away, toward the door. Blair could feel Walter's observant eyes on him, taking in the limp and his pain. He couldn't help looking back. 

"Think about what I said," Walter said. 

Jim glared at the man and tightened his hold on Blair's shoulder, a warning as clear as any words. 

But Blair couldn't help remembering how it felt, that surge of electricity through his hand at the other man's brief touch. And he had to wonder. 

* * *

<<<Blair felt so light, so very free. He moved easily, fluidly, happily around the kitchen, taking ingredients from the refrigerator and cabinets, chopping and mixing and preparing the perfect dinner. He hummed, somewhat tunelessly, under his breath. He was in such a good damn mood. He had no idea why. //But hell, go with it. How often does it come around and for no apparent reason at all?// 

"Hey, Chief, what smells so good?" Jim asked as he came through the door. 

"Dinner," Blair told him, smiling. 

"Thanks for the details," Jim said, joining him in the kitchen, cuffing him lightly and playfully on the head, inspecting the contents of the pots on the stove. 

"Go take a shower or something," Blair said. "It's not quite ready yet." 

"Yeah, okay," Jim said, trying to distract him, while he tasted from the spoon Blair had left in the sauce pan. 

Blair smacked his hand. "Go!" 

Jim held up his hands, surrendering, and headed off to the bathroom. Blair could hear the water running, while he put the final touches on dinner and set the table. //God, Jim was right. It does smell good.// He smiled the smile of the deeply satisfied. Yep, this was why it was just too damn good to be alive, the ordinary daily rituals, like having a nice, relaxing dinner with his best friend. 

//Hey, I bet Jim could use a beer. Come to think of it, so could I.// He moved to the refrigerator, his hand on the handle, as Jim emerged from the bathroom. He smiled at his friend, but Jim's face had changed. Gone was the open, sunny expression from just a little while ago. In its place was a look Blair recognized all too well. Jim was focused, his senses working overtime. //Danger.// 

Suddenly, Blair was not in the loft. He was back at the warehouse. Jim was there too, on the other side of the floor, just as he had been that day, one minute everything normal, a stark expression stealing over his face the next. Blair had known the moment he saw it. He could see the terror and protectiveness flash over Jim's face like lightning. In that instant, he knew his life was in the worst kind of danger. And then Jim was shouting at him, but he couldn't make out a single word his partner said. His own mind drowned out the sound of Jim's voice, repeating that one word, "danger," loudly, over and again, in a sick frenzy. He'd started to run toward Jim, and Jim had been running too, trying to reach him. He knew he needed to go faster. //Danger. Danger. Shit!// This time, he knew precisely what the terrible consequences would be if he didn't get to safety, to Jim, in time. 

But invisible forces seemed set against him. He couldn't move fast enough, no matter how he strained, as if he were caught in some sort of hellish quicksand. Then his healthy body began morphing, as if by malicious sorcery, the lightness and fluidity he'd felt earlier deserting him. His knee began to twist and tear, returning to its damaged state, bringing back the searing pain, slowing him down even more, crippling him. In his heightened state of awareness, he could feel the floor begin to shake beneath his feet, premonitory tremors, and his sense of urgency only became more dire. He was so close now. Jim's hand was outstretched to him, and he reached for it, the sound and the tremors growing more violent, the deadly explosion very near now. If only he could go a little faster, but the injured knee refused to cooperate. It hurt so bad. He could feel the blast gathering its force, ready to strike, the flash of that awesome heat on his back, the deafening roar, the terrible violence closing in. Jim was his only hope now. If he could only stretch out his fingers a little further, he could reach...and even as the blast overtook him, he kept grasping for Jim, knowing his partner was the only possible salvation from the terrible wound that would never heal, hoping against hope, that this time he would reach him...>>>

Blair screamed and sat bolt upright. The violent shuddering was still with him, but he recognized it now as the pounding of his own heart. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away the cold sweat, trying to get his frantic breathing back under control. He could hear Jim stirring above him, a moment of indecision, before settling back down again. The nightmares had been going on so long he'd finally asked Jim not to get up to be with him anymore, beginning to feel guilty for depriving his partner of so much sleep, afraid of becoming a burden. 

The dream was always the same. Hell, he should almost be used to it by now. One minute he and Jim were going about their normal lives-- watching the Jags on TV, working at the station, camping in the mountains--and the next, they were back at the scene of the explosion, unable to change the outcome. It didn't take Sigmund Freud to interpret this one. The normal fabric of Blair's life had been rent apart. He and Jim were so distant with one another these days that it truly was like he couldn't reach his partner anymore. 

Blair sighed. He had quickly learned that the worst part of being permanently injured wasn't the pain or the inconvenience or even the lifetime of things he might never do again. It was the way it marked him, set him apart, isolated him, cast him out of the ordinary circle of life. No one could possibly understand this kind of life-altering experience unless they'd traveled the same road, not even the people who loved him most...perhaps them least of all. Jim seemed so impatient sometimes, wanting him just to get back to business as usual, but that was not possible. He had not come out of that warehouse the same Blair who'd gone in. Even though no one could see the raw, angry wound, he felt disfigured all the same. Such a grave and lasting injury was not only a blow to the body, but an insult to the psyche, his bodily integrity violated by a malicious act. In a way, he felt raped, something precious taken from him, against his will, in violence, his sense of wholeness destroyed, a certain kind of innocence lost forever. 

And he felt so alone. God, did he ever feel alone. He curled himself into a fetal ball, pressed close to the wall, riding out wave after wave of pain, seeking solace any way he could find it. He supposed Jim must have gone back to sleep by now. He knew he'd told him not to come down when he had the nightmare anymore. He'd been vehement about it...kind of an asshole actually. //But oh God, when has he ever listened to me before? Why isn't he here? Doesn't he know I need him?// He tried not to be unfair. Jim was honoring his boundaries; that should be a good thing. But he was desperate and desolate, and Jim was the only one with the power to comfort him. 

He curled even tighter in upon himself. It was funny; once he'd felt so safe and secure in his bed, here in the home he shared with his best friend. But tonight, he felt cold and full of despair, the night falling across his room, darker than he ever remembered it. And there was Jim asleep upstairs in his own bed, no comfort to be had. 

Blair closed his eyes and tried to return to sleep himself, although he knew the effort would be fruitless. He rocked himself, trying to ignore the agonizing pain in his knee, trying to soothe the empty place in his chest that would not stop aching. 

* * *
    
    
    **Blest be the tie that binds
    our hearts in Christian joy;
    the fellowship of kindred minds
    is like to that above.**
    

Blair carefully followed along in the hymnal, since the words were unfamiliar to him, trying to pick up the tune, which everyone else seemed to know so well. His voice croaked along with the people surrounding him, trying to keep his shaky singing low and unobtrusive. 
    
    
    **Before our Father's throne,
    we pour our ardent prayers;
    Our fear, our hopes, our aims are one,
    our comforts and our cares.**
    

This was the third night in a row that he'd come to the revival, and each time, he'd felt the same sense of wonder at the diversity of people assembled, old and young, many ethnicities, all walks of life. At the same time, there was something alike in them all, their faces open and receptive. And the air was thick with an electric sense of excitement, the expectation of great and awe-inspiring events to come. 
    
    
    **We share each other's woes,
    our mutual burdens bear;
    And often for each other flows
    the sympathizing tear.**
    

Blair wasn't entirely sure why he kept being called to this place. His interest in religion in the past had always been purely anthropological. It's not that he didn't believe in divinity. He did. But there was something about organized worship that made him nervous, even within his own faith. Maybe it was just that belief seemed so very personal and individual to him that any kind of dogma felt unnatural and constricting. 

Still, since he'd been coming to the revival, he hadn't once had the bad dream, and that was certainly a comfort. And there was a part of him that kept returning in the hopes that he might have that same feeling again, that somehow Walter was speaking directly to him, that there was a message in those words that would lead him out of his suffering. So far, it had eluded him though, and he felt compelled to keep coming back, to keep trying. 

He'd also found the whole thing fascinating. His only other knowledge of this sort of religious practice came from documentaries on faith healers and watching the storm and drang of televangelists. Those images had always had a kind of carnival atmosphere to them, a sense of overwrought fraud. But this...this had a sincerity and humility that moved him, that made him, too, wonder what might happen next. 
    
    
    **When we asunder part,
    it gives us inward pain;
    But we shall still be joined in heart,
    and hope to meet again.**
    

The chorus swelled around him, making him feel physically carried aloft on the shoulders of the music. The words of all the verses seeped into him, and it was then that he realized the problem, why the sense of connection he longed for had remained so elusive. He had come to the church each evening with a split self, the man seeking connection and answers, and the anthropologist who habitually detached himself in order to study. And he knew, although he did not understand how, that half a heart would not do in this case. He must lose himself in the experience, become part of the fellowship of kindred minds here tonight. In order to be whole again, he would need to put his entire soul into the effort. 

Blair took a deep breath and began to relinquish the many roles he played: Blair, the scientist and Blair, the student and Blair, the observer. It was like stepping off a cliff into unknown territory. He wasn't quite sure what he would be without the things he depended on to define him. But when he was finished and had at last reached his own foundations, he was simply Blair, a man confused and more than a little scared, trembling and humble before the higher power, arms held up in supplication, asking for the help he so desperately needed, at last ready to receive it. 

Suddenly he felt the same electric spark in the air, like that brief moment when the minister first touched him. Walter stepped up to the podium and seemed to reach deep inside himself, searching for the sincere, heartfelt words, setting them free. Blair could feel something narrow in on him, something enormous, as if just for that brief moment he had the full and undivided attention of the cosmos. 

" _There is none to uphold your cause, no medicine for your wound, no healing for you._ How many of you have come here tonight with that fear in your hearts?" Walter asked the congregation, and there was a low rumble of assent. 

The minister nodded his head sadly. "I thought as much. The pain of the body can be so defeating. It can leave you very much alone and filled with despair, seemingly outside the warmth of the fellowship we all seek. Health is the foundation of all our possibilities. It is our wholeness, the most precious thing we can ever possess. The Lord said: _Health and soundness are better than all gold, and a robust body than countless riches._ Who here tonight, with pain or sickness, would not give up all their earthly possessions for simple health?" 

A murmur ran through the crowd. There was no one, including Blair, who would not trade in every last dollar, every personal belonging, just to feel whole and well again. 

"And true wellness is not simply wholeness of the body, is it? For the Lord also said: _There is no wealth better than health of body, and there is no gladness above joy of heart._ Was it an accident that God put these two things--health of body and joy of heart--in the same passage? No, of course not. There are no accidents or mistakes in God's wisdom. We are meant to understand that our bodies and our hearts are intricately related. When we are weak and broken in body, our hearts suffer. When our hearts are barren and desolate, we can never be truly whole." 

Walter paused to take a sip of water, and Blair found himself waiting, sitting on the edge of his seat, recognizing himself so clearly in the minister's words, eager to hear how the puzzle would be solved. 

"Here is the heart of my message to you. Those who have come here in pain and sickness for healing, look inside yourselves, into your hearts. Here you will find the ultimate cause of your suffering. Here you will find secret grief and long denied desires, buried fears and guilty conscience. Here you will find what pricks you and spills your blood. Is it not true? How many find these words adrift in your minds: _My grief is beyond healing, my heart is sick within me_? So many of you I think." 

Beside Blair, a woman bent her face into her hands, sobbing. It was only then that Blair realized tears were running down his own face. Yes, there were many things in his heart that he'd denied for too long. 

"But do not despair, my friends. The Lord God is merciful, and so there is always help for every hurt. There is medicine for the body and balm for the soul, for _he lifts up the soul and gives light to the eyes; he grants healing, life and blessing_. 

The sense of hope that surged through the crowd was like a physical sensation. The electric pulse buzzed over Blair's skin, as he sat poised, lips slightly parted, concentrating, waiting. 

"There is great power in belief, my sisters and brothers. In a sense, you have the power of creation in your own hands, to remake your own lives. When you keep the blinders on, when you see nothing beyond your everyday circumstances and earthly existence, when you hold to your worm's eye view, you remain enmired in the circumstances that torment you. But when you open your eyes and your heart to the true vastness of what God has made, you transcend your troubles." 

It shocked Blair, the way his heart lurched in his chest at those words. He had been living with hopelessness all the many weeks since the accident, but he had not fully realized how it weighed on him until that moment. 

"Always remember that the Lord God is no miser. He has created a universe overflowing with goodness and bounty, wonder and beauty, love and righteousness. He has set out the great feast before you. _Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart._ And why does God want you to have the pure and honest desires of your heart? Because such gladness is beautiful in his sight. The sounds of earthly joy are as music to his ears. The time has come, my friends, to open yourselves to this ecstasy of the Spirit. In this way, and only in this way, will you find true and lasting healing and happiness." 

There was a stirring in the crowd, a wave of anticipation, the sense of a presence. And Blair understood, at last, that it didn't matter he was a Jewish man in a Christian church. He was not an outsider. There was no such thing. God the Father, gentle shepherd or Goddess Astarte, Great Mother who pours out her love upon the Earth, God of the Jews or Christians or Muslims, Buddha on his lotus throne, Krishna in the sacred grove. These were all just names, modes of understanding. There were no words that could adequately describe the Light. The Divine was so far beyond all names and details. And there was only one Spirit, the magical, mystical pulse that gave life to the Universe, the great embodiment of all the sacred names and stories, the shimmering presence that now graced the church, that moved among them, sending a thrill of awe and thankfulness into all their hearts. 

"Who is ready to take the Light into their bodies and minds and hearts, and heal the old wounds?" Walter asked them. "Who is ready to take that reverent, carefully considered step? Because it will not just be the healing of the affliction that brought you here tonight, but also the unlocking of the secret heart. Who knows what fear or anger or desire lurks there? Who will have the courage to find out? Who among you is ready to confront the inner darkness and, in that way, to claim for all time the true and pristine desires of your heart?" 

Every night, Walter had offered the same invitation, and every night before, there had been a part of Blair, probably more his mind than his heart, that had wanted to answer. But the leaden resistance ruled him, and he'd just stayed seated instead, watching other hopeful supplicants rush up to the altar. Tonight though, it was as if Walter had spoken directly to him, and the irresistible electric pulse was inside him, pushing him to his feet, out of the pew, into the aisle, urging him on faster and faster, dragging the lame leg behind him, as he hurried to the front of the church. 

Blair took his place with the rest of the petitioners in a line facing the altar. Walter started at one end, giving each of them a light touch of his hands and a few soothing words. It was nothing like the operatic displays on television that were always so hard to believe. This was quiet and sincere, serene and transporting. 

When Walter got to Blair, he smiled gently, encouragingly. Blair couldn't believe he'd ever thought of this man as ordinary looking when he was so animated with energy and compassion. 

"Touch is a powerful thing, Blair," Walter told him quietly. "It's a symbol for love. From our first day on earth, our skin is hungry for contact with other human beings. Babies who don't get enough of it, who don't get the touching and the love they need, fail to thrive. And so do we as grownups. It's like we get malnourished in spirit and die a little bit more each day, way down deep in our souls where no one can see. But it's a death just the same, Blair. Do you understand?" 

Blair looked up at the minister with huge eyes. "I don't know." 

Walter smiled at him mysteriously. "Well, you will. And soon, I think." 

And then Walter laid on his hands, touching first Blair's face, with the lightest pressure imaginable, before moving on to his knee. What Blair had felt the other day was nothing compared to the jolt of energy that passed through him now, so white hot and intense it bordered on pain. Then the momentary discomfort passed, and Blair felt unknown levels of awareness open to him. He could see and sense so deep inside himself, and his whole body was abuzz, as if he could feel the very motion of his blood, the minute vibration of his cells, mending and rebuilding and healing. He imagined it was something like what Jim experienced with his Sentinel senses, only so much more. 

"Go in peace, Blair," Walter blessed him. "And don't resist your heart's desires. They have a reason and a higher purpose. And much good will come from their fruition." 

Blair staggered backward slightly, overwhelmed. He went back down the aisle to his seat. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but the leg seemed to drag less than before. He sat down and closed his eyes, his awareness still turned inward. When all the petitioners had been healed, the congregation took up a final song. 

**Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise him all creatures here below. Praise him above ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.** 

Blair knew that it didn't matter how the Spirit was called in the song. The impulse to praise was all that mattered. He was filled to overflowing with it, and he lifted his voice along with the others, now an intimate part of the kindred fellowship, no longer tentative in his singing, but loud and rich and full. He had never been more certain in his life that blessings flowed freely through the Universe and that he had just been touched by its miraculous hands. 

* * *

The next morning in the shower, Blair couldn't take his eyes off his injured knee. //More like _formerly_ injured knee.// He propped it up on the edge of the tub, inspecting it from every angle. There was no doubt that it had dramatically improved overnight. The scar tissue had shrunk significantly. The ugly color had faded so that it was now almost his normal flesh color again. It no longer looked raw and angry, but like an old wound that was well on its way to healing. 

And he could bend it. //I never thought something so small could make me so happy.// But it did. He practiced bending it, over and again, like a little kid with a new toy, reveling in the easy way the joint worked, the stiffness almost completely gone. He moved cheerfully around in the shower, stepping into the spray to rinse his hair, propping up his leg to reach his toes, elated to be able to do such normal, everyday things without pain. His good mood swiftly escalated into euphoria, and he finished his shower singing loudly and robustly, a little ditty he'd learned from a tribe he'd spent a summer with in Ecquador, an upbeat song they sang to their Goddess of the Hearth, in celebration of a fruitful harvest. Yes, there were so many ways to offer praise, and he planned to become well-versed in them all. 

He dressed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast for himself and Jim. His partner was just dragging himself down the stairs, ready now for his own shower, looking badly in need of a cup of coffee. 

"What's with the Mr. Sunshine routine, Chief?" Jim asked, his voice scratchy, squinting at the clock on the microwave with sleepy eyes. "Geez, Sandburg, it's only 7:30. When are you ever up and cheerful at this hour?" 

"I'm in a good mood today. Go get a shower, and I'll make you breakfast." 

Jim just glared at him, apparently in no mood for anyone else's jollity. 

"Go on," Blair urged and began moving spryly around the kitchen, taking out eggs, putting butter in the skillet, making coffee. 

Jim grumbled, something Blair couldn't quite make out with his non-Sentinel hearing, and stumbled off to the bathroom. Blair began singing his little song again, tapping his toe in time to the beat, as he finished making breakfast and set the table. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and one for Jim, and sipped his while he waited for his partner to shower and dress. 

When Jim finally made it to the breakfast table, Blair dished him up a large plate of eggs and some toast, and served himself a heaping portion as well. 

"Hungry, Chief?" Jim asked, watching him closely. 

Blair beamed at him, a little goofily. "Ravenous," he said and launched into his breakfast. 

Food had never tasted so good before. Simple pleasure sang through him. His recent experience had given him a whole new appreciation for the basics in life. Good health. Good food. A good night's rest. He didn't know why he'd never seen it before, why he'd never fully appreciated the very simple satisfactions with which his average day abounded. 

"What's up with you?" Jim demanded, his eyes narrow and observant. 

Blair could feel his face automatically taking on the wide-eyed innocence that always worked so well on Jim. "What?" 

"You're smiling at your food." 

He couldn't help the big silly grin that broke out over his face. "Tastes good, man. Really, really good." 

Jim frowned. "Yeah, whatever you say." 

They finished the meal in comparative silence. Blair was happy just listening to the morning birds singing outside, while he ate second helpings with noisy gusto. Jim watched him like a hawk, his expression growing darker and more austere with each passing minute. 

Jim washed the dishes, and Blair finished gathering his things. 

"You ready to go, Chief?" Jim asked him. 

"Yep, big guy. Let's do it," Blair answered, bounding past him out the door, making Jim wonder about him even more. 

At the station, Blair was back to his old self, or perhaps more like his old self on super, ultimate high test rocket fuel. He greeted people cheerily, slapped the guys good-naturedly on the back, flirted with everything in a skirt, throwing out compliments like confetti, treating everyone in his path to the same huge, luminous smile. All the while, Jim walked grimly by his side, taking in every last detail, saying nothing, the tense, twitching jaw a clear indication of his displeasure. 

Once in the bullpen, Blair high-fived Henri, low-fived Rafe and gave Megan, seated at her desk, a quick peck on the cheek and a compliment on the red sweater she was wearing. 

"Thanks, Sandy," Megan said with amusement. "Well, I see _somebody_ got lucky last night." 

Blair beamed. "More than you know, Megan. More than you know." 

"So did the earth move, the heavens sing?" she asked, leaning in, enjoying the gossip. 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

"That good, huh?" she laughed playfully, "Well, it seems to have done you a world of good, Sandy. You really look like you're feeling a lot better." 

"I am, Megan. Thanks," he said. 

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, fondly. 

"Hey, Chief, can I get some help over here? Or are you and Conner not finished with the coffee klatch yet?" Jim growled. 

Megan rolled her eyes. "You better go get to work, Sandy, before you lose your job. Oh wait, that's right. You don't actually get paid for this, do you? You just _volunteer_ your services here, to help us out, with nothing but our _gratitude_ for a reward." 

Jim glared at Megan, but he didn't answer her barb. Blair couldn't help smiling at her when Jim turned back around, and she winked at him conspiratorially. 

Still, Blair didn't actually want to make Jim's already foul mood any worse, so he left Megan and quickly joined Jim at his desk. 

"And the leg's looking better too," Megan said, amazed. 

"It's feeling great." 

"Hey man, that's really good news," Henri said. 

"Yeah, Blair, I'm glad to hear it," Rafe chimed in. 

"Hey, thanks, you guys." 

"Could we all just get back to work here?" Jim asked, his voice rising testily. 

After a moment of pin-drop silence, everyone began busying themselves at their desks, going out of their way to look like they were attending to CPD business. Blair started on some paperwork, while Jim fumed over the case file in front of him. They worked like that for much of the morning, saying little. But Jim's bad mood had not burst Blair's bubble. The happy song continued to play in his head, and he moved in his seat to the beat, pretending not to notice Jim's rather obvious annoyance. Despite Jim's black humor which had everyone in Major Crimes tiptoeing around him, people still found a way to tell Blair how happy they were that he was feeling better. When he went for coffee, he got waylaid in the break room by a group wanting to know the details of his amazing recovery. Whenever he walked across the bullpen, on his way to the bathroom or en route to the photocopier, someone remarked on the absence of the limp. Even Simon came out of his office to marvel over Sandburg's startling progress. 

That was the final straw as far as Jim was concerned. "Chief, let's go to lunch," he said, in that way that meant they had something to talk about. 

Blair nodded. It really was time he found out what the problem was. Besides, he was hungry, his renewed vigor completely undampened by Jim's behavior. //No matter what kind of pissy mood Jim's in, life is still good. And I'm still so happy I could spit.// He followed Jim out to the elevator and down to the truck with the same goofy grin he'd sported most of the day, making Jim only that much more sullen. 

"Hey, where do you want to go for lunch, Jim? Maybe Wonder Burger?" Blair asked, buckling his seatbelt, waggling his eyebrows at Jim over the mention of his favorite fast food joint. 

Jim stared at him a moment, as if he'd just sprouted a second head, before putting the truck in gear and driving the short distance to Wonder Burger in tense silence. They ordered their food, Blair getting twice as much as usual, and found a quiet corner booth in the back. 

Blair hadn't even finished unwrapping his burger before Jim demanded, "So, what the hell is up with you, Chief?" 

"Nothing, man. You're the one acting like he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What's up with _you_ , Jim?" Blair asked as he drenched his fries in ketchup. 

"I'm worried about you," Jim said, looking down at his food as if eating was the last thing on his mind. 

"But why, man? I'm feeling _GREAT_. Better than I have in a long time." 

"That's what has me worried. Blair, are you taking anything to...you know, make the knee feel better?" 

Blair stared at him in stunned disbelief. "What?" 

"Are you using drugs?" 

Blair's face turned deep red. "I can't believe you're asking me that. You _know_ I don't do that. Jesus, Jim, don't you know me at all?" 

"I thought so, Chief. But this behavior today...well, I don't know what to make of it. You're walking around in this happy daze like you're high as a kite. You're _all_ over everybody, like some kind of puppy. And the knee just suddenly, miraculously doesn't hurt anymore," Jim held up one hand to stop any denials Blair might make. "I know it doesn't hurt. I can always tell by the set of your body when you're in pain. Then there's the matter of where you mysteriously went the last three nights. When I asked you about it, you evaded, obfuscated, in good old-fashioned Sandburg style, something I seriously thought we'd moved beyond in our partnership. So what else am I supposed to think?" 

Blair's eyes glittered with quiet fury. "Oh, I don't know, Jim. Maybe that I'm not _nearly_ stupid enough to take illegal drugs and then go in to the _police station_." 

Jim shook his head. "Not stupid, Chief," he said sadly. "Maybe just a little...I don't know, desperate. I know it's been really hard on you since the accident. You've already been through so much. I just don't want to see you have any more trouble. You don't deserve that. You never deserved any of this." 

Jim's soft tone and his evident sorrow defused Blair's anger. He finally understood the distance he'd felt between them since he'd come home from the hospital. It wasn't impatience on Jim's part, far from it. It was a classic case of Sentinel guilt, Jim torturing himself that he hadn't done enough to protect Blair, shouldn't have been so careless, should have seen, heard, smelled, known. 

Blair put a hand on Jim's arm. "It's no one's fault I got hurt, except maybe the bastard who planted the explosives. And I swear to you, Jim. I swear to God. I swear on everything I value most--Naomi's life and my Sentinel research and our friendship--that I'm not taking drugs." 

Jim searched his face a long moment, and Blair could tell he had his Sentinel senses trained on him, listening and smelling and watching, trying to decide. "Okay, Chief. If you say so," he finally conceded, although Blair could tell he wasn't completely convinced. 

Blair debated with himself about what to do. He couldn't let Jim go on half believing he was a junkie. On the other hand, he had never intended to tell his partner about what happened at the church, for so many reasons. He knew going to Walter wasn't the most professional thing he'd ever done, what with the investigation still open and all. And this was just the kind of experience Jim categorically denied as impossible. 

"Reverend Harker healed me," Blair finally said, coming clean with it, his voice the thinnest whisper. 

"What?" Jim asked, although Blair knew perfectly well he'd heard. 

"I know you said we shouldn't go, but I don't know...it just seemed like my last hope and so I went. The first two nights, nothing happened. I didn't feel anything. But then last night, something came over me, and I could feel something...I don't know...very large at work. So I went up front to ask for help. And Walter healed me." 

Jim stared at him as if he didn't quite understand the meaning of those words. 

"I know it's not the kind of thing you believe in. But I swear, Jim, he touched my knee, and now it's better. And that's why I've been in such a good mood." 

"You can't possibly believe that." 

"Why not? I believed you when you told me about your senses. That's pretty far fetched, but it also happens to be absolutely true. Why wouldn't I believe in Walter's ability? I'm somebody who believes in things. And I saw it work for myself. I mean, look at me. I'm so much better, just overnight." 

"Hey, Darwin, have you ever heard of the power of suggestion? The knee was getting better all along, the physical therapy finally beginning to pay off. It can be like that sometimes. You keep working, working, working at it, and see a big spurt of progress, all at once. And now this charlatan has you convinced it's the hand of God or something." 

"It _wasn't_ getting better," Blair said, with determination. "I should know. And if you're really truthful with yourself, you know it too. Besides, I felt something....when he touched me. It was just the most amazing thing." 

Jim turned red, his voice a low tinderbox of anger. "Stay away from him, Blair. For your own sake and the good of the investigation." 

Blair didn't say anything. As the officer in charge, Jim had every right to tell him to back off. Besides, he really had no reason to return to the revival, now that his knee was healed. He decided just to let the subject drop, hoping Jim would do the same. The two of them quickly finished their meal, in near silence, before heading back to the station. 

When they walked into the bullpen, it was apparent something was up. Simon, Rafe and Megan were gathered around Henri's desk, engaged in some kind of conference. 

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Blair asked, hanging up his coat. 

"We got back some interesting information on the minister at the church with the homicide." 

"Reverend Cleveland?" Blair asked in disbelief. 

Simon rolled his eyes. "No. The one who's not eighty-five years old, Sandburg." 

Jim's interest pricked up. "Harker?" 

Simon nodded. "We did a background check. Guess who's got a record?" 

Jim took the printout from Henri. "Assault with a deadly weapon. Got five years, did two." 

"I don't believe it. Let me see that," Blair said, taking the paper out of Jim's hands. 

"So what do you think of your healer now, Sandburg?" Jim asked, mocking. 

"Before you start gloating, Jim, did you check out how long ago this was? Over ten years. The guy was still a kid then. Kids make mistakes." 

"Yeah, but most of them don't nearly kill someone in the process. Looks like your man of God's got a dark side." 

"Well, he's not the only one, Ellison," Blair countered. 

"Does anybody know what the hell these two are fighting about?" Simon asked, exasperated. 

"No sir," Megan answered. 

"Not a clue," Henri said. 

"Me either," Rafe chimed in. 

"Nothing, Captain. Just a little difference of opinion between me and Sandburg. I think it'd be a good idea to go over to the church and have another talk with _Reverend_ Harker." 

"Good idea, Jim," Simon said. 

"I'm coming with you," Blair said, grabbing his jacket. 

"No, you're..." Jim began to protest. 

"Am I your partner or what?" Blair demanded. 

Jim fixed him with the stony stare, his jaw twitching with irritation, before realizing that Blair knew him far too well for the usual intimidation tactics to work. 

He sighed heavily. "Come on then." 

Blair followed him out the door, and they waited for the elevator, the tension between them apparent to anyone who knew them at all. 

They found Walter in Reverend Cleveland's office. The minister got up when he saw them standing in the doorway, moving to shake hands with Blair, extending his hand to Jim who ignored it. 

"I'm sorry, Leonard's not here right now. He had some sick visits to make over at the hospital. But I expect he'll be back in the hour if you'd like to wait." 

"Actually, we came to talk to you, Mr. Harker." 

Walter looked taken aback, but quickly recovered with good grace. "Won't you sit down then?" he asked, gesturing to the chairs. 

"Thanks," Blair said, smiling pleasantly at the minister, taking a seat. 

Jim remained standing. "We found some interesting things when we looked into your background, Mr. Harker. For instance, I find it quite interesting that you were arrested and did time for assault with a deadly weapon. Then the very day you show up at this church, there's a murder. Don't _you_ find that interesting?" 

Walter regarded the detective with complete calm. "Actually, I fail to see how one relates to the other, Detective Ellison. If you took the time to actually read the details of the case, I'm sure you already know that it happened fourteen years ago and that it was a barroom brawl that got out of hand. The 'deadly weapon' was a broken beer bottle. Not that it wasn't wrong. Not that I didn't hurt the man I was fighting with. Not that I don't regret it with all my heart. I was a very foolish young man. I acted without thinking, the way, unfortunately, foolish young men often do. But I paid for my mistake, and I really and truly saw the error of my ways. I'm not the same person I was back then. And ever since, I've done everything in my power to _help_ people, not hurt them." 

Jim glared at him. "I wonder what the good people of Mt. Hebron church would think if they found out their healer has a criminal record of violent assault?" 

"Actually, they saw it as an example of how giving your life over to God really does lead to redemption." 

Jim looked absolutely stunned. It was not at all what he was expecting. In all honesty, Blair was rather surprised himself. 

"It's the first thing I tell people when I conduct a revival. But you didn't come the first night, Blair, so you missed that part," Walter said. "I'm not proud of what I did. In fact, I couldn't be more sorry about it. But I never try to hide it. I believe that everything has a purpose. As unworthy as I am, I have to believe I was chosen for this work to illustrate that no matter how low you've fallen you can always change your life. Whether it's putting yourself back on the straight and narrow or healing some sickness or overcoming unhappiness. Whatever it is. The Lord is merciful, and there is always salvation." 

Blair nodded, mesmerized as always by the simple, heartfelt way Walter spoke. Jim shifted with irritation. 

"Don't leave town without letting us know where we can find you. And when we have further questions, or more evidence, we'll be back." 

"I understand, detective," Walter said, not the least bit non-plussed. 

"Come on, Chief," Jim said, putting a possessive hand on the small of his Guide's back. 

"See ya, man," Blair called to Walter as Jim pushed him out the door. 

Walter smiled in that mysterious way of his. "See you soon, Blair." 

Once in the truck, Jim turned to Blair, his face twisted with fury. "Did you have to buddy up to the guy while I was trying to conduct an investigation?" 

"I was _not_ 'buddying up.' That was what we laypeople call common civility. But you wouldn't know much about that, would you?" 

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means you didn't have to be so rude," Blair said. 

"He's a _suspect_ , Sandburg! What was I supposed to do? Invite him to tea?" 

"How about viewing the case with objectivity?" 

Jim turned so red Blair worried he might have a stroke. "You're questioning _my_ objectivity? That's just fucking unbelievable coming from you, Sandburg! You're the one who thinks _Walter_ walks on water or something." 

"Don't go there, man. We were talking about the _case_." 

"Okay, let's talk about the case then. We have the battered body of a defenseless _retarded_ boy. We have the good _reverend_ with a record for violent assault. He comes to town for the revival the _day before_ the boy is killed. Everyone else has been part of the church community for years, and none of them has even the slightest motive for committing the crime. Plus, Harker has no alibi, and he had access to the church. Am I painting a picture for you yet, Chief?" 

"That's all _completely_ circumstantial, Jim, and you know it. You don't have any real evidence. And what is _his_ motive? He doesn't have one, either." 

"I just don't want you around him, Chief. It's too dangerous. He could be the killer." 

"I don't think you really believe that," Blair said. "Look, Jim, I'm telling you, he's a good man. He healed me. He's healed a lot of people." 

"Your leg was getting better anyway," Jim insisted loudly, his patience shot. 

"God, why is it so hard for you just to believe? After all you've been through with your senses, why do you have to reject every possibility that there's something more, something greater?" 

"Maybe I've just seen too much shit. My God, Blair, I watched you almost get blown to bits. I didn't hear the bomb. I didn't smell the explosives, at least not in time. So what the hell good are the senses anyway? If I can't use them to protect the one person...you're right, Chief, I _do_ refuse to believe. I prefer to think that human beings are responsible for what goes on in the world. It's a lot better than having to believe that God is one _hell_ of a son of a bitch." 

That brought Blair up short. He'd never considered the reasons for Jim's bleak cosmological outlook or that what had happened to him might figure in it. 

Jim put the truck into gear, staring straight ahead. "Just stay the hell away from him, Chief. And I mean that." 

* * *

After the day they'd had at the station, Blair and Jim were glad to get home, although it did nothing to thaw the chill between them. Blair hung up his jacket and went to his room to do a little reading before dinner. He could hear Jim go into the bathroom, the shower running. He tried to keep his attention focused on the anthro journal in his lap, but he kept chewing on the fight they'd had. He still thought Jim had been out of line, and he had no doubt that Walter was innocent of any involvement in Larry Randolph's death. But he could see now that Jim's excessive reactions were in some way tied to his protective instincts toward him, an impulse that had only gotten more powerful since his injury. 

A knock on his door startled him out of his brooding. "Hey Sandburg, Chinese okay?" 

"Yeah, man. Fine. Sesame chicken for me." 

"I'm calling now." 

Blair decided to see if he could make some kind of peace with his friend, gathering up his laptop and the most recent chapter of his dissertation that needed editing. He found Jim sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer, flipping channels. Blair took a seat at the table, setting up the computer, spreading out his papers. 

Jim frowned at him. "We're going to be eating soon." 

"I'll move it," he reassured his roommate. 

Jim turned back to the TV, and Blair worked on his dissertation half heartedly until dinner arrived. Jim didn't say a single word to him in all that time, answering with a grunt or a shake of the head when Blair tried talking to him. He didn't have much more to say over dinner, only a stray word here or there, a request for the egg rolls or an expression of annoyance that the restaurant hadn't sent more duck sauce. Blair always hated it when he and Jim were out of sync, and this was far worse than their usual bickering, leaving him feeling more and more crest fallen with each passing minute. 

Jim cleaned up after dinner, waving off Blair's offer to help, and then went back to his television watching. The mood to work on his dissertation had passed, and Blair joined Jim on the couch, settling gingerly into the corner, half afraid he might object. But he didn't react at all, just stared straight ahead at the screen, as if he were truly mesmerized by the hand-painted Austrian birdhouse available on the Home Shopping Channel for 24.95. Jim's silence felt like a force field, keeping him out, and something about that impression made it impossible for Blair to speak, the words dying in his throat before he could get them out. 

Finally, he decided that if he couldn't get any work done and Jim was just going to ignore him then he might as well go to bed. 

He stood up. "Good night, Jim." 

Jim's answer was merely the briefest nod of the head. Somehow that was the final blow. Jim wasn't even going to observe the niceties. //You know, big guy, the part where I say something to you, then you say something to me. And at the end of the evening, we wish each other goodnight. You know. That common civility thing again.// Blair sighed and went to his room closing the door behind him. He threw off his clothes, caring even less than usual where they landed, and slid into bed. After tossing restlessly for a while, he did finally manage to fall off to sleep. 

<<<Jim was sitting on the sofa, flipping channels. 

"Hey, Chief, grab me a beer, huh?" 

Blair brought back two bottles from the kitchen and joined him on the sofa. "I thought we were going to watch the game." 

"What do you think I'm looking for, Sherlock?" 

"Oh, I don't know. I thought I saw you eyeing some of the merchandise on Home Shopping. That crocheted golf hat could be a good look for you." 

Jim cuffed him playfully on the head. "Very funny. Hey, wait. Here it is." 

They both settled in comfortably to enjoy the game, which turned out to be a rather close contest. 

"Oh man, I do _not_ believe that call," Blair griped. 

"He walked! Did you see that, Chief? What? Are these refs blind?" Jim yelled at the screen. 

"The only explanation." 

Suddenly Blair felt a chill on his arms, and soon he was shivering. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, noticing his discomfort. 

"Cold, man." 

Jim looked over at the terrace doors, which were open. "I'll go close them for you." 

"Thanks, man." 

Jim got up, and Blair turned his attention back to the game. But when Jim didn't come right back to the couch, he glanced over again. All the light-hearted good humor was gone from Jim's face. In its place was an expression of...sheer horror, Blair realized with a sick start. //Not again!// And then there was a white hot stabbing pain in the vicinity of his heart. When he looked down, his chest was raw and open and wounded. He looked back at Jim with stricken eyes, too terrified to scream for him. He could feel something wet and sticky on his fingers, and when he lifted them to his face, they were covered in blood. Jim put a hand over his mouth, aghast, and reached for Blair. And Blair, holding an arm over his gaping chest, reached back for Jim, trying to get up from the sofa despite the pain, fighting to stumble over to his partner, to Jim, the only person who could possibly save him... >>>

Blair woke up gasping for breath, yet again, feeling like his lungs were going to explode in his chest. He ran a hand over his face, his body trembling all over. It was like all the other nights when he'd had the terrible dream. He was wide awake, alone and cold in his bed, his heart desolate and aching. The only difference was that now his knee didn't hurt. Who would have ever believed that would turn out to be such cold comfort? This time he didn't even hear Jim stirring upstairs, even though he knew his distress must have registered with his partner's senses. //Damn!// He'd been so afraid that he'd lose Jim because of the injury, but somehow, now that he was better, his partner was farther away than ever. 

Blair was beginning to understand what Walter had said in the church that day, about the healing needing to go beyond the obvious injury. Although Blair still couldn't quite fathom the mysterious desires hidden in his heart, it was beginning to appear that he'd only gotten half the miracle he'd been wishing for. 

* * *

Blair had hoped that morning would bring with it a fresher perspective and a lighter mood. Unfortunately, when he woke up, he found that the Cascade weather was its usual self, drab and uninspiring, and he felt much the same way himself. He stretched and closed his eyes again, seriously considering going back to sleep. The nightmare had ruined his night's rest, and he could use a few more hours in bed. But the moment he woke up his sense of unease returned, upset by the tension with his partner. The nagging emptiness and sorrow were back as well, ready to torment him another day. 

He sighed heavily and got up. Maybe he could at least use the morning to reestablish friendly relations with Jim. He could make breakfast. They could linger over the paper the way they usually did. Normal. Perfect. But when he went out to the kitchen, he was struck by how silent the loft was, and he knew that Jim wasn't there. Looking around, he noticed that his partner's gym bag was missing. //An early morning workout. On Saturday. God, he hasn't done that since the first few months I lived with him.// That realization added to the burden weighing him down. Saturday mornings when they were both off had become something of a ritual. They hung out, chilled, took their time easing into the weekend. Jim always went to the gym later in the day, after they'd spent some time together. 

Blair drifted aimlessly about the kitchen for a few minutes, not sure what to do next. //Well, I guess I may as well get on with my day too.// He sighed again, more heavily than the last time, and headed off to the bathroom. After he was dressed, he made himself a quick breakfast and washed up the kitchen. //Okay, what now? Work, I guess.// He got out the laptop and spread out his papers on the table, just the way he liked them. //See? This isn't so bad. Nobody to grumble about the mess.// He put on his glasses and bent over the computer, ready to lose himself in his schoolwork, laying out extremely ambitious plans for how much he could accomplish now that he was free from distractions. 

His concentration lasted about fifteen minutes. It was impossible to pay attention to his dissertation, when every few seconds he felt the need to calculate and recalculate how long he thought Jim had been gone. //Over an hour, at least. Maybe more like two. He's never gone much longer than that when he goes to the gym.// What he did accomplish was hardly his best work, since he'd edit a sentence or two and then stare at the door for a while, willing Jim to appear. He knew he was being a little crazy, but he just wanted Jim to come home, damn it!, so they could talk. 

Finally, he realized there was no way he was going to accomplish anything even remotely productive. Jim would come home when he was ready to, not a minute before, and certainly not just because Blair wanted him there more desperately than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. He sighed once more, this time the heaviest of all. He knew he seriously needed to get out of the apartment if he wasn't going to lose his mind entirely. //A drive. To clear my head.// Yes, that was the remedy. He grabbed his jacket and fairly ran out the door, trying to escape the demons that swirled like thick fog around the loft. 

After what felt like hours of driving, Blair found himself parked outside the church. //Of course.// He felt a twinge of guilt. While he hadn't specifically promised Jim he'd stay away, he hadn't openly defied him either. In fact, he had really intended to heed his partner's wishes, even if Jim's vehemence seemed kind of irrational and out of proportion. After all, this _was_ an open investigation, and Jim had been right about his being personally involved in it. Geez, he was involved up to his eyebrows. 

//I could just sit here a minute, get myself together and go home. I don't have to go in.// He shook his head at himself and laughed softly. //Yeah right.// 

Blair got out of the car and walked up the stone steps. "Walter?" he called once inside, but there was no answer. 

He walked up the aisle, further into the sanctuary, and sat down in one of the pews. The hushed stillness came over him. It was the same feeling he'd experienced in every sacred place he'd ever visited--temple, cathedral, shrine, mosque, rough hewn altar in the wilderness--the sense of the Spirit at work. He'd felt that same power at work inside him the other night, and he'd thought he could take it away with him, that it would become part of who he was. But now it was lost, and he was back here once more, the despair returned yet again. 

"It's peaceful, isn't it?" A soft voice startled him. 

"Walter, man, I didn't hear you there." 

"Sorry, Blair. I should have realized how deep in thought you were. It's nice to see you again." 

"Thanks," Blair said, a little nervously, feeling like a revival groupie. "I'm sorry about yesterday, about how Jim treated you. He was way out of line." 

Walter shook his head. "He was doing his job. And he obviously worries about you. He wouldn't be much of a friend or partner if he didn't. I certainly don't hold it against him. So can you tell me why you've come back, Blair?" 

Blair looked at him helplessly, not sure how to begin explaining. 

Walter looked at him closely. "You know that it was never about the knee, don't you?" 

Blair stared at him, stunned that Walter knew, finally managing to nod. 

"Yeah, I thought as much when I saw you sitting you here. The knee was definitely bad," Walter acknowledged. "But it wasn't so bad it couldn't have healed on its own. That happens sometimes. A sickness or injury becomes more than itself. It becomes a symbol of how you don't feel whole, a physical manifestation of something you're struggling with in your mind, in your soul, some way you're hobbled, incomplete. Healing is tricky in those cases. You fix the injury but the wound remains." 

Tears shimmered in Blair's eyes. "I feel this terrible emptiness inside me, Walter, this horrible sense that there's something missing. What do I do about that?" 

"I'm not sure I can tell you the answer, Blair. It's really up to you. But I can tell you a story. My story. About when I got into trouble way back when. You know, when I think back on the person I was in those days, I make myself shiver. There was nothing inside me, nothing giving me substance, nothing binding me to the earth, no reason to do right by others. It was a powerful emptiness at the center of my being. Oh, I covered it over with a swagger and an attitude. I camoflauged it from myself with my short temper and my endless griping about how this one had done me wrong or that one hadn't given me my due. But it was always there just the same, an endless well of despair that had nothing to do with anyone else, that was all my own." 

Blair shook his head. "Man, even though I know about the bar fight and the arrest and everything, I still find it so hard to believe that was ever you. I mean, you're so...calm, so at peace. You have to be the most centered person I've ever met." 

Walter smiled slightly. "That's good of you to say. And these days, I _am_ at peace. With God and the world and myself. But not back then. No sir. And I wasn't very self-aware either. I never had any idea where that dangerous emptiness might take me. Not until the very moment I saw my hand grind that jagged beer bottle into the other guy's face, almost like it wasn't even me doing it. I was most definitely not a gentle person back then. I never considered the consequences of my actions. I never thought." 

"But you think about _everything_ ," Blair protested. "You spend more time thinking than _I_ do, and that's, like, got to be a record or something." 

"Prison will do that for you. Believe me, I had all the time in the world to think while I counted off the long days in the penitentiary. And they sure were no easy days, Blair. But when I got out, the rage had all dried up, like your knee got better. I could finally see what the true problem had been all along, how I was missing something inside, how I was incomplete." 

Blair suddenly couldn't sit quite still. He fidgeted in his seat, and there was a part of him that just wanted to run, as quickly as he could, as far away as he could get. He knew he couldn't listen to the rest of Walter's story without facing the emptiness and aloneness inside him. //It's going to hurt like hell.// And he was already so worn out from pain. 

"We don't have to do this," Walter said gently. 

"No, I want to. Really. I'm just kind of scared of what I'm going to find." 

"I understand that. I was scared, too." 

"You were? Really?" 

"Oh, yeah. I think that's why when I go paroled I ended up seeking out the last place I'd felt really and truly safe. The place where I'd found my greatest comfort, the fullest sense of who I was. For me, that was my grandmamma's. I used to spend summers with her when I was a little boy. I'd help her with all the things around her farm, and we'd sit on the porch in the evenings, drinking iced tea and resting, not talking much, but understanding each other perfectly well. You know how that can be? And every Sunday, we'd go to services at the little white church down the road where she'd been a member for a good fifty years." 

Blair suddenly flashed on Jim, the two of them making dinner together, tackling a pile of paperwork down at the station, arguing over the last of the hot water, the kind of images that been in his dreams. He realized that if it weren't for Jim he never would have been able to relate to Walter's story, he never would have understood what it meant to be at home. His life with Jim was regular and comforting, secure in a way he'd never known before. It gave him a sense of permanence that had always been missing while he was growing up, that he'd been searching for his entire life. That's why it had been so terrifying when it seemed like the knee injury might cost him all that. 

"After I got out of prison, Grandmamma took me back in, like nothing had ever happened," Walter said. "And we went back to the way things were when I was little, me helping her with the farm work, going to church on Sundays. The first time I stepped back into that simple, humble old building, oh Blair, I can't tell you what that feeling was like. Homecoming. Revelation. It had me down on my knees, tears streaming down my face. I meant it when I said I saw the error of my ways. I saw it in great detail, every misstep and wrong turn in the road. And worst of all, the damage I'd done along the way, to myself and others, all the wasted opportunities to be a part of this life, to make some kind of difference, to do some small good. To carry my weight in the world, like a man." 

Blair found himself nodding. Yes, that was what he had always wanted, some way to contribute. And he'd found it with Jim. Even if it was only in a small way, he was part of what Jim was. He was Guide to the Sentinel of the Great City. It had given his life significance and meaning beyond anything he ever could have imagined. 

Walter stared into space, as if he were going inward, searching himself for the truth. "And then, I could see it, Blair. I could finally see the empty, gaping darkness at the center of my soul where all those misdeeds of mine had their origin. Down on my knees in that little country church, with good people surrounding me, my grandmamma's neighbors and kinfolk and friends, all praying for me and calling on Jesus' name, urging me to take that step, to reach out my hand, to take hold of what had always been there, I saw it, Blair. I finally saw it. The answer to the terrible emptiness had been within my grasp the whole time. Faith. That's what it was for me. And there on the floor of my grandmamma's church, just about as low as a person could get, I opened my heart to God. I, at long last, said yes to life. I didn't know exactly how it would all work out, but I knew this was the right path to be on, the one I'd been searching for all my life, only I'd never realized it." 

A sharp wave of longing welled up in Blair, taking him by surprise. //MORE!// His rational mind tried to reason with that greedy, demanding part of him. After all, he had a very full life. He had his scholarship and his teaching, his Sentinel research and his work down at the station. He had his friendship with Jim. He felt certain he was on the right path, and he knew he should be grateful for all the good things in his life. But now that the wanting voice had been unleashed, it would not be stilled. //MORE! MORE! MORE!// 

Blair tried to keep focused on what Walter was saying. The minister watched him closely, but continued with his story. "The people in my grandmamma's church were ecstatic for me. They were no strangers to powerful religious conversion, and they decided that while the Spirit still had a hold on me I ought to be baptized. They all just picked themselves up, the minister grabbing his prayer book, and they led me down to the river, right that very moment, to claim my soul once and for all for the Lord. And I was trembling with fear, I was so afraid. This thing was so much larger than I was, and it had control of me. But I knew if I turned back there was only the empty darkness, and I wasn't ever going back to that again." 

The terrible feeling from the nightmare slammed back into Blair's body. //Empty darkness.// Yes, that's exactly what it was. And he, too, wanted so desperately to be free of it. 

"So I walked with those good people down the road to the banks of the river," Walter said. "I listened so carefully to the preacher's words and I made my answer to them, with my whole heart. When he pushed me under that water, there was a moment when I wasn't sure if this was the way to life or death. But then I had this feeling come over me, just the most miraculous feeling you could ever imagine. It was the Light moving inside me, taking me over. I felt more alive, more aware, more insightful, more free than I ever thought possible, and all that magical power concentrated itself in my hands. But the most amazing part of all was that it didn't go away. When the minister pulled me back up again and declared me consecrated to the Lord, I still felt it. It was inside me now, a part of me. From that moment on, I had the gift in my hands and a vocation that gave my life true meaning and a way to accomplish some good in the world. That had been my heart's desire all along. When I opened myself up to the possibility, I finally found it." 

Blair couldn't help shaking his head. "I don't know, man. I just don't think..." 

Walter put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not saying that you'll find your answer the way I did, Blair. You certainly don't have to call it a miracle and attribute it to Jesus. Maybe what you're looking for isn't faith. Or a vocation. Maybe it's something or someone else entirely. I'm just saying that it's within your reach, Blair. Your heart's desire. That much I can see as plain as day. There are things larger and more majestic than we are, forces at work in the universe we can't even begin to imagine, and there are plans for us, for how we use our lives, for who will be by our sides. When we follow our heart's desire, that's our chance to tap into the magic. Isn't that cause to rejoice?" 

Blair couldn't help grabbing Walter's arm. "I want that. I swear I do. But I don't know what to do, Walter. I don't know how to find it." 

"You keep looking outside yourself for it, Blair. You have to look inside. If the answer's not in there, you're never going to find it out in the world. You know, Blair, people's spirits are a lot like landscapes. When I look at you, I see a lush, wondrous garden, well-tended, filled with light, rich in potential. But there's this one little bare spot at the very center of you where you never let anything grow, reserving it, for something special, for just the right thing. Nothing else will do. And I'll let you in on a little secret. I think you already know what you want there. You just haven't made up your mind yet to go out and get it. But when you do, it will truly be yours. And it will complete you." 

Blair blinked at him. "Walter, man, I seriously need to do some thinking about all this. I feel more confused than ever." 

Walter nodded. "You go and do that, Blair. Think on it carefully. And I wouldn't worry too much about the confusion. That's just the way of things. Your thoughts get their murkiest just before the flash of clarity hits you." 

Blair nodded, getting to his feet. "Yeah, I can see how that might be the case. Hey thanks, man! I already feel better than I did." 

Walter smiled. "I'm glad to hear it." 

Blair walked with Walter to the door. "I'm going to go drive around some more, maybe take a walk in the park. You've really given me a lot to think about." 

"While you're doing all that thinking, keep in mind there's a reason why the Bible says that the greatest of all gifts is love. That means love in all its many guises." 

Blair frowned slightly. Walter always said things that jumpstarted his brain and stirred up his emotions, but a lot of the time he really had no idea where it was leading. Walter's understanding was whole dimensions ahead of his. 

Blair pushed opened the door and stepped outside, noticing that the perpetual Cascade greyness had lifted, the sun now glowing warm and yellow. //The greatest of all gifts is love.// He waved good-bye to Walter and went down the stairs. //The answer to the terrible emptiness had been within my grasp the whole time.// He unlocked the car door and slid into the driver's seat. //There are plans for us, for how we use our lives, for who will be by our sides.// He thought a moment about where to go and then put the car in gear. //There's this one little bare spot at the very center of you where you never let anything grow...but you do know what you want there.// 

Concluded in part [two](layingon1.html). 


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into two parts.

##  Laying on Hands 

by  
Annabelle Leigh  


Continued from part one. 

* * *

Laying on Hands - part two 

Hours later, Blair unlocked the door to the loft and went inside. It took a moment to realize that Jim was in the living room, making Blair start when he registered the presence. Jim sat on the sofa in the gathering dusk, beer in hand, his eyes glittering, making it clear this wasn't his first drink of the evening. 

"Hey, Jim," Blair said, hanging up his coat on a convenient peg, tossing his keys into the basket. 

Jim took another swallow of his beer, didn't answer. 

"Okay," Blair said, sighing heavily. "So did you have a good day? Enjoy your workout?" 

Jim fixed him with that slightly mocking look of his, jaw clenched, his silence an aggressive force. 

"Yeah, right. Never mind. You're obviously not in the mood for small talk. That's fine, man. Neither am I, really." 

He went to the kitchen, considered a beer, but felt that at least one of them should keep a clear head. He poured himself a glass of juice instead and joined Jim on the sofa. When he sat down, Jim's whole body tensed. 

"Look, man, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I went to the revival behind your back. I'm sorry about what I said yesterday. I don't want to fight with you anymore. Okay?" 

But Jim didn't respond. He kept his eyes straight ahead, staring a hole in the wall, continuing to down his beer. 

"Hey, man, I'm trying to apologize here. Could you at least look at me while I'm talking to you?" 

Jim turned in his seat, crossing his arms angrily over his chest, staring back at Blair with eyes as hard and opaque as blue ice. "This better, Chief?" 

"Could you just try to meet me half way? I really want to make this better," Blair said softly. 

"Do me a favor, huh? Spare me the effort." 

"I don't understand what's eating you, man. So I have no idea how to make it up to you. But I really, really want to. There's something I need to talk to you about. Something I need to tell you." 

Jim's mouth twisted, into something like a smile, only uglier than that, his face filled with sarcasm and disgust. "I don't want to hear your confession, Sandburg. If you need to unburden yourself, get a rabbi. Or a minister, better yet. You'd probably like that, huh, Chief?" Jim said, with a hard little laugh. 

But his expression said that he didn't find it the least bit amusing. 

"Man, I have no idea what that's supposed to mean." 

Jim's face lit with anger, propelling him to his feet. He stalked over to the terrace doors and turned back to glare at Blair. "You don't know. You don't _know_. That's just great, Chief." 

"You could tell me." 

Jim turned away, squaring his back against his partner, staring out over the city. "No. I just need it left alone. Could you go to your room or something. I really need to not have you around right now." 

That pissed Blair off, and he leaped up from the couch, drawing closer. "That's just perfect, man. I'm trying to work this out with you, make amends. And you want to send me off to my room, like I'm a kid who's being punished. No way, man. I'm staying. And we're gonna deal with this." 

Jim whirled around, and Blair could feel the jagged energy coming off him, not the usual irritation Jim sometimes had with him, but sheer, blind, uncontrollable rage. And despite himself, Blair took a step back. "I'm warning you," Jim hissed. " _GO AWAY_ before I do something..." 

Blair blinked, his eyes wide with shock, and he took another step back. "Fine, man. You want to see the back of me? Fine. Maybe later I can get a few minutes of your _precious_ time to talk about something that's _important_ to me. You know, when you're not quite so busy getting wasted and being a prick. Unless you want to see the back of me permanently. Then you just let me know, huh? I'll be out of your hair for good, man." 

Blair stomped off to his room, slamming the door behind him. And locking it. That made him feel sick at heart. When Jim had included a lock on the doors, Blair had been touched that he would think of it, that he would care about his privacy. But he'd never used it before. There had never been a reason. He'd never wanted or needed to keep Jim out. 

He collapsed onto his bed, his entire body trembling. This was _so_ not the way he'd envisioned this conversation going. After several hours of driving and then walking in the park, he had finally been struck by something Walter had said, that when he was lost and confused he'd followed his heart back to the place where he'd felt the most alive, been the most comfortable, where he'd had the strongest sense of who he was. Blair had realized that for him that place was with Jim. Maybe if he came clean with his partner, told him how terrified he'd been that the injury was going to leave him permanently disabled, how he was still struggling even though the wound was healed, maybe that would be a beginning, a step toward figuring out what the problem was. Maybe Jim could help him find what was missing. 

Now, in a fit of anger, he had gone and offered to move out, the _last_ thing he wanted to do. But Jim had actually made him feel threatened, something he never would have thought possible. That had pissed him off more than anything else could have. He _so_ did not appreciate having his whole world turned upside down with his Blessed Protector suddenly acting like an unhinged bully. 

Blair curled up into a tight ball, holding one of his thick tomes, a recent anthropology journal, against his chest. He had no intention of reading it. He just needed something to hang on to. The nagging grief and fear were really bad now, and his only ambition was simply to ride it out, to survive. 

" _FUCK_!!!!" The screamed epithet and the sound of glass shattering against a wall jolted Blair out of his misery, off the bed and into the living room. 

He found Jim standing in the middle of the room, the shards of a beer bottle littering the floor. ""What the _hell_ is up with you, man?" Blair demanded. 

Jim strode over to him. "So help me, Sandburg, if I come home one day and find you and your stuff cleared out of here, I _will_ track you down. And kick your sorry ass, when I find it." 

Blair set his jaw, a wave of stubbornness coming over him, his anger reignited. "Don't worry, Ellison. I've changed my mind. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of getting rid of me that easily. You want me out of here, you're gonna have to throw me out. And believe me, I have no intention of going quietly. So be ready for one _hell_ of a fight." 

Jim's eyes glittered. "It'd be a really good idea if you went back to your room now." 

"I'm sure that would make things easier for you, Jim. But no. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the _hell_ is up with you." 

Jim laughed, that hard, humorless laugh again, giving Blair the creeps. "Don't you think I ought to be the one asking you that, Chief? Aren't you the one with news to share?" 

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Blair asked, completely in the dark, exasperated beyond belief. 

"Where were you today?" 

Blair sighed. "Just out, man. Driving. Walking. I had a lot of things on my mind. I needed to do some thinking." 

Jim's features darkened. "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" 

"And just what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?" 

Jim moved even closer and stared him in the eye. "It means I can smell him on you," he said, his voice low and dangerous. 

"Who? Walter? Shit, Jim. Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't see him again but I really needed..." Blair trailed off, running a hand nervously through his hair, not sure what to do next. He knew that Jim had serious issues around trust, and obviously he was feeling betrayed. 

//Shit! I never expected he'd have a reaction like this, or I never would have gone back there.// 

"Are you fucking him?" Jim asked in an ominous voice. 

"What??!!" 

"You heard me. Are you fucking him, Chief? Huh? Are you? Tell me." Jim grabbed him by the shoulders, as if trying to shake the answer out of him. 

"What are you talking about...oh man, get off me!" he said, jerking himself out of Jim's grasp, wondering if Jim was really that drunk or if he'd actually gone insane. "You are _way_ out of line here. And I am _so_ not discussing this with you." 

"Like _hell_ you're not! What's wrong, Sandburg? You didn't think I'd realized? You didn't think my senses would have told me? Well, they did. I'm perfectly well aware that you'll sleep with anything that's got a pulse. And I've put up with it until now. I've put up with your coming home with _their_ smells all over you, every time you go out on one of your little _dates_. Do you know how sick I am of having you come home _stinking_ of strangers, women, men, whoever will fuck you or let you fuck them. But no more. You hear me, Sandburg? I'm not putting up with it this time." 

//He's calling me a whore. My partner. My best friend. The person who's supposed to...shit!// The gaping, agonizing feeling in his chest grew even worse, just like in the dream. It suddenly struck him that they would never be having this conversation if he only slept with women. The picture was becoming clear, about what they were really fighting about, and then he lost whatever last hold he had on his own temper, his face turning completely red. 

"What's the matter, Ellison? Afraid other people will find out you've had a fairy living under your roof for the last three years? What? Worried about what your buddies down at the station must be thinking? Scared of being a faggot by association?" 

Jim took another step toward him, a look on his face Blair had never seen before, at least never aimed in his direction. And he felt something break inside him. Too late, he realized it was his heart, with all its fondest desires. He watched Jim fight for control of himself, jaw twitching, every muscle in his body straining with the monumental effort it took to rein himself back in. Jim had really wanted to hit him. Jim had wanted to hurt him. Jim had been ready to beat the shit out of him, just because he slept with men. Oh, God! He'd always told himself that he never went into the particulars of his love life with Jim just because there was no point in it. So he sometimes slept with women and sometimes with men? So? Now he recognized the cold fear at the bottom of that decision for what it had always been, the terror that Jim would not understand or approve, that Jim would hate him for what he was. And now it had happened. Oh, God. Jim hated him. 

"Just answer me one question, Chief. Why him?" 

Blair could hear the disgust in Jim's voice, and he shrank even further inside himself. No matter what he'd seen in life, he had never thought God cruel until this moment, as he finally found the one thing, the one person, who could populate the terrible emptiness inside him, his heart's one true desire, only to lose it, lose Jim, forever. 

Jim was still standing near him, too near in fact, not just violating his personal space, but obliterating the very concept out of existence. Jim's voice was low and gravelly and filled with barely controlled rage, right next to his ear, sending cold shivers up and down his spine. "So was the fucking part of the healing? Was that why it was so amazing when he touched you? Was it, Chief? Was it therapeutic?" 

The despair and the rage were both too great, and something snapped in Blair. "I am _NOT_ fucking Walter," he screamed in Jim's face, not caring about Sentinel hearing. "Got it? Not _everything_ is about my dick, man. And if I _were_ fucking him, if I were fucking every man, woman and farm animal in the state of Washington, that would be _so_ none of your business. Why the hell would you care anyway? It's not like _you_ want it." 

The minute the words left him he clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. They were already out there, in the room, in the world, in Jim's ears, damning him even more. He waited for the fireworks or his own funeral, whichever would come. He did not have to wait long. Jim took hold of the front of his shirt, slamming him back against the wall. Of course, Blair should have known. //Jim really needs to work on developing new ways to vent his frustration. And what is it with him and the wall anyway?// 

Jim pinned him with his body, using his hips and thighs to keep him in place, to prevent him from wriggling away despite his best efforts. A part of Blair found it arousing to have Jim's body pressed against his. At the same time, he despised himself for getting turned on when Jim hated him precisely because he had these feelings for men. Jim took his jaw firmly in one hand, turning his face straight on, holding him still, making Blair look him in the eye. 

"How the _hell_ would you know _what_ I want, Sandburg? When did you _ever_ , _once_ , give me the time of day that way?" 

Blair blinked, then frowned. The words didn't compute. He strained all his prodigious mental faculties to make sense of it, but he couldn't quite wrap his brain around it. //Was Jim saying? Did he mean? But...// 

"Oh, hell!" Jim cursed, an intense look of frustration and impatience crossing his face. 

Since Blair was so obviously not getting it, Jim explained in the way that always worked best for him, with action, through touch. He held Blair's jaw and chin firmly in place and kissed him. Blair had been kissed many, many times in his life, but he'd never had his mouth _taken_ before. And that's exactly what Jim did, forcing his lips and teeth open, pursuing what he wanted, a little ruthlessly perhaps, plundering, ravishing, staking his claim, intent on exorcising every last trace of those who had been there before him. 

It was the desperation in Jim that made him bruise Blair's mouth with kiss after kiss, only pulling away each time to let Blair breathe, to gasp for air himself, returning for more and more and still more. Each press of Jim's lips, move of his mouth, touch and caress of his tongue was an explanation, and he needed to make sure Blair understood it all. //See? This is what I want...what I've always wanted...what I've needed so badly...and you're the only one who could ever make me feel this way, make me want you until I ache, until I think I'm going to die from it...and the thought of your doing this with another man makes me sick with envy and rage and grief...because you belong to me and I so much want to belong to you...and this feeling I have for you is strong and stark and even a little primitive, but I promise you, love, it has absolutely nothing to do with hatred.// 

By the end of Jim's rather long, entirely wordless explanation, Blair was trembling and on the verge of tears and a little dizzy from lack of oxygen. The tension in Jim's hold lessened, and his hands moved on Blair's arms, lightly, caressing. 

"I want to be the only one who touches you," Jim finally managed to say. 

Blair felt his arms go around Jim's neck of their own volition, his fingers twining in the spiky dark hair at the nape of his love's neck, his body moving against Jim's, almost as if it had a will of its own. "Yes, Jim. Yes. Touch me. Please." 

Blair would have been hard pressed to describe the sound that came out of his partner at getting his permission. Growl hardly covered it. It was a sound as dark and thick and dangerous as the jungle, a timeless sound that had been invented about the same time the world was, a sound that came from so deep inside him that Blair could only lick his lips in anticipation. //Oh, yeah!// 

Jim grabbed Blair's arm and dragged him up the steps, pushing him down on the bed, quick hands stripping away Blair's clothes and his own in the blink of an eye. Blair expected Jim to join him, but he didn't. He stood quietly at the foot of the bed, watching him, using his Sentinel senses on him. It was the single most thrilling, the most erotic sensation of his life. It felt like a caress, the way Jim's eyes moved over him, mapping him, learning him, moving over the length of his body, taking in the dip and rise of muscles, the thick down of hair, lingering lovingly on his swollen cock, the irrefutable evidence of his intense desire. 

Blair moaned softly in the back of his throat and writhed on the bed, as if Jim were actually touching him. That made his Sentinel smile, and he could tell Jim was opening his hearing, to take in more of his sounds, the staccato rhythm of his excited pulse, the windy intake of his breath, along with more obscure sounds that Blair probably wasn't even aware of himself. Jim was committing all of them to memory, looking as if it were the most transporting music he'd ever heard. Blair could smell his own arousal, and he wondered what it smelled like to Jim's sensitive nose. Apparently Jim had the same thought, because Blair could see his nostrils flare, could see his Sentinel breathing him in, growling deep inside his chest, becoming even more aroused. //Seems like I smell pretty good to him.// As if in answer, Jim licked his lips, lushly, extravagantly, piggy backing smell with taste, constructing what Blair would taste like, savoring the earthy sweet delight that was his Guide. 

That left only touch, and Blair was desperate for it, unable to stand one more minute without his Sentinel's skin against his own. He stretched sensually, offering himself up, begging with his eyes. 

Jim finally made his move, joining his love on the big bed, laying his hands on Blair. For one brief, shining moment, it was as if Blair were the one with enhanced senses. He swore he could feel every sworl and ridge of Jim's fingers on him, every molecule where Jim's flesh touched his own. The universe was reduced to a pair of strong, tender hands, stroking and caressing and worshipping him, and it was a universe ruled by perfection. He could never have asked for anything more. A gentle, restorative heat spread through him, completing him, at long last, the true healing touch. 

If the kiss earlier had nearly melted Blair's circuitry, it was nothing compared to being loved with everything Jim had, his hands and mouth, fingers and tongue, his cock, his whole body, using his Sentinel senses to map him like an undiscovered country, uncovering his treasures, learning all the secret, pleasurable places that drove him wild with need. 

Blair had never seen his Sentinel so passionate, so devout, so alive with fervor. It was as if Jim had finally found something he could believe in, his own holy sacrament, a uniquely satisfying way of offering praise. He set about expressing his devotion with the single- minded determination of a medieval knight on Crusade, the heat of his warrior's heart in service to the pure desires of the spirit. Only _his_ hallowed ground was Blair Sandburg, and he was an erotic pilgrim. He knelt over Blair in breathless admiration, worshipping at the sacred altar stretched out before him, the sweet, sensual shrine that was his heart's every desire. Each touch was an act of reverence, each brush of his lips an expression of piety, each nip and lick and stroke of fingertips and tongue a form of veneration. Jim made love to Blair as if it were a sacred rite, prayerfully, paying homage to his love's beautiful body, communing with him in spirit, celebrating a liturgy of love and sensuality, need and homecoming, revelling in the long-awaited consummation of all his brightest dreams. 

Jim had always been at his most eloquent when he communicated through touch, and he used that skill to send his love all the long buried messages of his heart. //I've waited such a long time for this. I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you.// He explained, as he moved his hands through Blair's luxurious long hair, that he had always loved, always longed to touch. //There's never been anyone else. Not like this. No one but you.// He declared, as he traced Blair's collarbone and shoulders, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw, wondering how even a man's bones could be so beautiful. //I'd die if I couldn't make love to you. I want this so badly I don't feel quite human.// He admitted, as he stroked Blair's trembling belly, loving the way the skin grew humid and feverish beneath his touch. //I love you.// He confessed, as he tenderly fondled Blair's balls, kissed and licked and sucked his sweet cock, letting the taste that was all Blair explode across his tongue, delighting in the strong earthy scent of his love's pleasure. 

Blair was not content to let Jim be the only celebrant. He met his lover's every touch, flirtation, kiss, stroke, bite, thrust with one of his own. He had learned so much from his healing, and he put that understanding into action. It was true that the skin got hungry for touch. His was. And Jim's skin, well, Jim's skin was truly ravenous, if the low moaning in the back of his Sentinel's throat was any indication. Blair trailed his fingers down his love's chest, pressing kisses to his neck, teasing and fingering his nipples, kissing and licking and sucking them, until Jim was writhing beneath him.//See how powerful it is?// He asked his lover, holding Jim's hips down, caressing them, urging his thighs apart, lightly stroking the insides of them, exulting in the low moan that escaped from Jim's throat. //Isn't it divine?// Blair touched the opening to Jim's body, lightly, reverently, making sure it was welcome, flirting and circling and teasing with his thumb, finally pressing in a finger, gently, giving Jim time to adjust before beginning to move his hands in concert with one another, finger fucking his lover in the same rhythm that he stroked his cock. //Do you believe now, Jim? Can you see it? Can you feel it? Can you sense it? The magnificence. The awe. The wonder.// And Jim could. He could see it all, feel it all, sense it all, the enormous, star-splintering rapture that ruled the cosmos. He bowed down before it, gave himself up to it, worshipped, prayed, consecrated himself in its name. 

Yes, Jim Ellison had gotten religion. 

And the whole time they loved each other, the most amazing climatic transformation was taking place in Blair's soul. The gladness he felt when Jim touched him was like a gentle rain, coming to that parched, stubborn place at the center of him, soaking deep into the soil. Jim's passion was like the sun warming Blair's heart, which had always been alive with potential, just waiting for the right encouragement. His love's breath was the light wind that scattered the seeds, and in the warmth and safety of Jim's arms, the seeds took root, unlocked their secrets, found a home. Under Jim's tender, pale blue gaze, so like the benevolent sky, tender shoots began pushing their way up, unfurling, a light dusting of succulent green as far as the eye could see. Jim's loving ministrations nourished the new growth, and soon that place at the center of Blair's soul was thick and lush, at last the showplace it was always meant to be. 

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, sweat slicked and winded, sated and more than a little sticky. Blair rested with his head on Jim's chest, listening to his Sentinel's strong heart beating, the most lovely sound he'd ever heard. _His_ Sentinel. The most beautiful words he could imagine. He could feel Jim's fingers in his hair, playing idly with his curls. A deeply satisfied smile, perhaps even a bit smug, curved Blair's lips, and a sensual languor unfolded in him, making his arms and legs feel pleasantly heavy, ready to fall asleep in his love's arms. //Perfect bliss.// 

"Uh, Chief," Jim said, clearing his throat. 

Blair's eyes flew open wide. That voice didn't hold the same relaxed contentment he felt. Now that he was fully conscious, he could feel the tension in the arms that held him. //Oh, shit! Please don't let him regret this. Please God. Please.// 

He propped himself up on one elbow, so he could look down into Jim's face. He gently stroked his lover's smooth, strong chest with his other hand. "What's wrong, big guy?" 

"Did you...I mean, was it...I just wanted to know if it was okay?" Jim asked, blushing slightly, looking both expectant and afraid, more like a little kid than Blair could ever have imagined. 

Blair smiled broadly and kissed his love sweetly on the lips. "It was much, much more than okay." 

Jim looked relieved, his face lighting up, a smile coming into his beautiful blue eyes. "I'm glad. I just...I never..." 

Blair felt his own eyes grow wide. Jim had never been with a man before. Well, that made sense given what he knew of Jim's background, but it certainly had not prevented him from giving one hell of a blow job. //I guess Jim's just a natural.// 

Blair pressed a kiss to his lover's chest. "It's funny," he told his love. "I've been struggling lately. Searching for what I need. Not knowing exactly what that was, or not being willing to admit it to myself. I just didn't understand. It's what Walter's been trying to tell me. I kept going back to the church looking for something to fill this place inside me, but it was right here all along. What I want. What I need. Within my reach the whole time." 

"I think I love you," Jim said, very softly, his eyes downturned, refusing to meet Blair's. 

Blair smiled, stroking Jim's jaw with his thumb. "Well, I know I love you." 

Jim frowned. "It's not what I was expecting. Not what I was brought up to believe is right. You don't know how long I've been fighting these feelings. And then when I thought you were with Walter...I lost it. I'm sorry. I said things...well, you know I didn't mean it, right?" 

"I know. It's okay," Blair said soothingly. 

"No matter what my old man preached at me, this _does_ feel right. I just know _I'm_ the one who's supposed to touch you." 

Blair nodded, his face lighting up with understanding. "And I'm the one who's supposed to touch you. _That's_ my soul's desire." 

"I _do_ love you, Blair," Jim said. 

Blair smiled with joy and kissed his love on the cheek, before nestling back into his arms, ready now that they had committed themselves to one another to sleep the contented sleep of the well-loved. 

* * *

Sunday morning dawned a thousand times more brightly than the day before. Blair had never been so grateful in his life for a weekend off, and he and Jim put it to good use, snuggling in bed a long while before heading off to the shower. 

The hot water streamed over them, and Blair leaned heavily against the tiled wall, letting it support his weight. He closed his eyes against the strong sensations assailing him, but somehow that only intensified them, not a bad thing in this case. Even without looking, he could still see it, as if the image were burned onto his retinas. It was a picture he would carry with him forever, a secret prize to take out and pour over in his dreams, the stuff of steamy fantasies for years to come, the way Jim knelt in front of him, going down on him, his head bobbing as he took Blair deep into his throat, pleasuring him so well. Jim's hands held his hips in place, kneading them in time to the deft movements of his mouth, and it was only those strong hands that prevented him from falling as his release coursed through him, making him weak in the knees, liquefying his bones. 

Jim stayed on his knees, tenderly washing away the rest of the cum, caressing Blair's legs. He paid particular attention to the knee that had been wounded, kissing and stroking it with his hands, as if his loving kindness could take away the last vestiges of scar tissue that remained. Blair finally managed to get his breathing under control, and when he looked down at Jim, he saw tears in his partner's eyes. 

"It wasn't getting better," Jim said in a shaky voice. 

Blair shook his head. "No, it wasn't." 

"I was so afraid they were going to take you away from me." 

Blair stroked his head. "Who? The department?" 

Jim nodded. 

"But that would only have been at work. You would still have had me around here. And even if we hadn't become lovers, we'd always have been friends. Right?" 

Jim couldn't quite meet Blair's eyes. "I just wasn't sure if...I mean, I know you said, but..." he stuttered. "I thought it was about the dissertation. If there was no dissertation, then..." 

"What? Then I'd just pick up and leave like the last three years never happened? Like you're not the most important person in my life?" 

"I didn't know that then." 

Blair smiled. "Who else is my family and my best friend and my Blessed Protector all rolled into one?" 

"But I didn't protect you this time, and you got hurt, really badly. And you weren't healing. Then you started spending all that time with Walter. _He_ was the one you turned to for help. I never even knew until then, until it looked like it was too late. And I was really just so..." 

//Scared.// Blair mentally finished the sentence for him, since he knew it would be too difficult for Jim to admit himself. He could hardly blame him. His own fear, that Jim only kept him around to help with the Sentinel stuff, had been so buried and oblique that his body had been forced to act out his distress to get his attention. He pulled Jim to his feet and stroked his shoulders and arms comfortingly. "We really need to start having faith in one another." 

Jim nodded, and Blair smiled at him. "Let me wash you." 

Blair lathered his hands with soap and moved them over Jim's body, in slow, tantalizing circles. Jim watched him with eyes half-closed in pleasure, staying surprisingly still and docile, letting Blair do with him as he pleased. What pleased Blair was to explore every inch of his lover's body, soapy fingers ranging over hips and thighs, exploring the backs of knees and the bones of the ankles, pressing into the hollows under Jim's arms, tracing his balls, before fisting his cock. He turned Jim around so his hands could skate over the shoulder blades, dance over the lower back, his fingers finally traveling gently between Jim's cheeks, where Jim had wanted them all along, at least if his response last night had been any indication. 

Blair moved his soapy fingers deeper, rubbing back and forth inside the crease, stroking and circling the opening to Jim's body, teasing and flirting and washing as he went. He felt Jim suck in his breath as he slowly and gently pushed in one finger, stroking inside Jim's body, using the soap and water and his finger to cleanse Jim's most intimate, private place. When Jim was used to the feeling, he pressed in a second lathered finger to wash him more thoroughly, but this time he felt Jim tense, the muscles clamping down hard. 

He laid his head against Jim's back and murmured soft, low sounds of reassurance. He could hear Jim's heart racing wildly and the quick, shallow intake of his breath. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, removing his hand from Jim's bottom, circling both his arms around his lover's waist, hugging him tightly. 

Jim gasped at the loss of the fingers in his ass and shook his head. "No! It's just...I never expected _that_ would feel so...no else has ever touched me there." 

Blair couldn't see Jim's face, but he could make out the blush that reached all the way to the back of his love's neck. He smiled against Jim's shoulder blades. "And I hope no one else ever will." 

Jim turned to look at him over his shoulder, holding his eyes with the tender earnestness of his expression. "No. Only yours. Forever." 

Blair moved around to face him and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Thank you, love. I'm yours too." 

"Chief? I'd like...would you?...I want you to love me, you know, _that way_ ," Jim said, staring down at his own feet, blushing furiously. 

Blair's eyes went wide, and his heart skipped a beat. He could almost swear he'd just heard Jim ask him to... 

"Please?" Jim begged, his voice soft and pliant. 

It was as if there was a direct connection between Blair's hearing and his cock. Jim Ellison wanted him, wanted Blair inside him, making love to him. He wanted Blair to take him. But then a second thought, from his brain this time, made him hesitate. 

He caressed Jim's chest. "There's no rush, Jim. This is all so new for you. I don't want to push anything on you that you're not ready for. Let's take our time. Eventually, we'll love each other in every way possible, but for the time being, why don't we take it slow? Make sure everything feels right first." 

Jim shook his head. "I'm cautious about a lot of things, but I don't want to be cautious about this. You're not pushing me into anything. _I_ want this, and I want it _now_ ," Jim declared and then blushed once more, embarrassed by his own urgency. "The way you touched me last night and just now...it felt so...I liked it. I really, really liked it. Almost too much." 

Blair smiled. "That's how love is supposed to be. Too good to believe." 

"I want more," Jim said, very simply. 

Blair started to protest again, but Jim pressed his fingers very gently to his lips to stop him. "Have you ever needed something really badly, for a long time, but you didn't even realize it, until somehow you got luckier than you ever deserved to be and just kind of stumbled on the answer? Do you know what I mean? Does that make any sense?" 

Blair couldn't help reaching for Jim to hug him and whispered in his ear, "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. In fact, I've had some personal experience with that recently. And believe me, it makes all the sense in the world." 

"Let me give myself to you, Blair. It's what I want. It feels so right. And it's important to me." 

Blair was too choked up to do anything more than nod. Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," he said and leaned in to kiss his partner. 

Blair turned off the water, and they got out of the shower, toweled off. Jim took Blair's hand and led him out of the bathroom. 

"I just have to get something," Blair told him, squeezing his hand. "I'll meet you up there." 

Jim nodded and headed upstairs. Blair retrieved condoms and a tube of lube from his bedroom and hurried to join Jim. The sight that greeted him at the top of the steps literally took his breath away. Jim lay stretched out on the big bed, gloriously naked, already aroused, the late morning light from the window making his smooth skin look as if it were illuminated from within. //I'm more nervous than he is.// Blair realized. //He really is okay with this. At least if his body language is any indication...// Jim lay casually sprawled, one arm crooked beneath his head, a lazy, sensual smile curving his lips, a passionate heat lighting his blue eyes, an expression in them that was both sure and ready. 

"I love you," he told Blair and spread his legs wide, rubbing his hands lightly along the tops of his thighs, beckoning Blair to him, offering himself up to Blair's sight and touch and loving. 

Blair could feel his pulse spike in his own chest, and he swallowed hard. It was enough to make his head spin. He felt overwhelmed by the sight of his love's beautiful body spread out for his enjoyment, the strong, supple muscles gleaming in the sunlight, the long legs parted for him, his Jim so open and relaxed and eager for his loving. 

Blair recognized this sacred responsibility for what it was. He wanted more than anything to be worthy of Jim's trust. He wanted to make Jim's first experience sweet and tender, loving and ultimately pleasurable. To do that, he couldn't rush, _wouldn't_ rush. He joined his love on the bed, knelt between his legs, stroked and teased, coaxed and luxuriated, worshipped and caressed, all in his own sweet time. He couldn't help smiling as he watched his love responding to him-- writhing and bucking, twisting and leaning into his hands. He lavished special attention on Jim's cock and balls, used both his hands and his mouth, sucked and fondled until Jim was coming in a frenzy, screaming out his name, the most beautiful music he'd ever heard. 

After Jim came to himself and caught his breath, Blair gently urged him over onto his side. 

Jim shook his head. "No. Like this." 

Blair caressed Jim's belly, which trembled at his touch, and drew on him with one light finger. "It's easier your first time on your side. I don't want to hurt you." 

Jim held his gaze. "You won't. I have faith in you," he said confidently. "And I want to watch you while you take me. I don't know, Chief. It seems like I've been looking away from things, important things, for too long now. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to see in your face how it feels for you to be inside me. And I want you to see in mine how good it is to have you love me." 

In that moment Blair hardly recognized Jim. He had known for a while now that Jim had changed since they'd first met, but this...well, this was beyond his wildest imaginings. The closed off, control freak of a Sentinel was nowhere in evidence. This was a totally different side of Jim, one rarely seen, a Jim who was tender and yielding and hungry for intimacy. 

Blair caressed the insides of Jim's thighs and pressed a single, reverent kiss to the entrance of his body. With well-lubed fingers, he prepared his lover, opening and stretching him, moving his fingers deep inside to send white hot flashes of ecstasy through him. 

Jim lay still, watching him, making an occasional moaning sound in the back of his throat, screaming loud enough to wake the dead when Blair found his prostate, but not tensing as Blair would have expected, not trying to hold anything back. He'd never seen Jim so open and receptive. Blair was pretty sure Jim had never been such a passive recipient of anything in his entire life, certainly never during lovemaking. Jim was breaking new ground, journeying into an entirely unexplored part of his soul, and he was doing it with Blair, offering himself up, making a gift of his body, his love, his faith. It was the most valuable, the most precious gift Blair had ever received. It moved him beyond words that Jim Ellison would choose to be this vulnerable and trusting with him. 

"Take me, Blair. Do it now," Jim said between clenched teeth. 

And Blair did, staking his own claim, accepting the precious offering, merging their bodies, as they had already joined their hearts and their lives. It was exquisitely, unbelievably, impossibly good to be inside Jim, to be making love to him, and Blair needed to know that it was just as pleasurable for Jim. He watched his lover's face carefully, seeing wide-eyed surprise followed quickly by a flash of pain, and he waited, with more patience than he would have thought possible, not moving until the desire came back into Jim's eyes, determined not to hurt or rush him. 

Jim's urgency soon returned, and he moved his hips, tentatively at first, locking his legs around Blair's waist, bringing him further into his body. Blair caressed Jim's hips, his thighs, his belly, bending forward to kiss his lips tenderly. It nearly overwhelmed him to see his strong, proud Sentinel lying back so trustingly, a look of intense concentration and eagerness on his face as he met Blair's thrusts, loving him back. Blair could feel the ecstasy begin to overtake him, and he quickened the rhythm, moving voluptuously inside Jim, stroking his cock in time, finally sending them both into sweet oblivion. 

It felt like a loss to Blair, leaving Jim's body, and he held tightly to his love afterwards, seeking a different kind of closeness. Jim's strong arms closed around him. He ran his fingers through Blair's hair and rubbed circles on his back. He sighed his satisfaction, as if he'd just enjoyed the most delicious meal on earth. 

Blair couldn't believe how ridiculous it was, how silly he felt. Jim was the one who'd just lost his virginity, but he was the one crying. 

Jim pulled him closer and petted him tenderly. "What is it, Chief?" 

Blair closed his eyes and buried his face in Jim's chest. "You trusted me." 

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Jim's smile. "Always." 

* * *

When they finally found the energy to get out of bed again, Blair set about having the intimate, cozy morning with Jim that he'd missed so much the day before. They made breakfast together, waffles and bacon, and devoured it with relish, finding that every sensual appetite had been awakened, including gluttony. Afterwards, they stretched out on the sofa together, in each others arms, settling in for a day of reading the paper, watching the Jags game and whatever else came to mind. 

There was nothing especially out of the ordinary about it, and Blair had never felt a more complete sense of bliss. It amazed him that the best things in life were also the simplest. The way you gained intimate knowledge of someone when you held them close, learning their pulse, the cadence of their respiration, the dull rumblings that bespoke the unseen but crucial processes of life, the intimacies of scent, the intricacies of texture. Or how the strength and quality of sunlight flooding through the windows changed as the day unfolded. Or how the silence of your own home had a richness of character, an easy familiarity that embraced and soothed you, unlike the jagged silences of foreign places that spoke only of absence. 

Blair marveled that the building blocks of such perfect happiness had always been part of his everyday life, but only now could he assemble them into this portrait of exquisite contentment. That's why love truly was the greatest gift of all, because it not only gave you its own joy, but also unlocked your soul to all the beauty and majesty you had missed along the way. It recast your life in brighter colors, conferred a poignancy on all the quiet moments, gave each experience, no matter how pedestrian, a height and depth and breadth it had never reached before. 

It reminded you that life was good, and that this had been the plan all along. It opened your eyes to the truth, that love and pleasure really were forms of worship. 

These were Blair's thoughts as he rested in his lover's arms, communing outside of words with the man who was his Sentinel and best friend, partner, family, fondest desire--certain that all was right with the world. 

Until Jim's cell phone rang. 

"Oh damn!" Blair cursed. 

And if he thought he was upset, he'd never seen such a combination of dread, disappointment and anger on Jim's face. "Do they have no clue what the term 'day off' means?" his lover growled, before answering the call in his most severe voice. "Ellison!" 

Blair watched Jim closely as his expression turned to one of concern, trying to figure out what was going on from Jim's side of the conversation, wishing not for the first time that he, too, had Sentinel hearing. 

Jim snapped the cell phone closed. "Chief, I'm afraid I've got bad news. There's a hostage situation at Mt. Hebron. The church was packed for the last day of the revival, and the guy won't let any of them go. He's got a gun, and he's threatening to kill Reverend Harker." 

Blair gasped and then turned deadly pale. "Oh my God. No, Jim. We can't let that happen." 

"Try to calm down. I'm sure the Tactical Assault Squad has everything under control." 

Blair flew off the couch and began pacing. "The TAS? They're all a bunch of gun happy cowboys and you know it. _We_ have to do something. Don't you see? We owe him. _I_ owe him. Without his help, I never would have found you, found us. Please, Jim!" 

Jim watched him a moment, considering, and then nodded. "Go get dressed. We'll go down to the scene and see what we can do." 

Blair flew into his arms, kissing him. "Thanks, man. Really. Thanks." 

"Nobody owes Reverend Harker more than I do. Starting with an apology for acting like such a prick." 

"I'm really worried." 

"I know. But we'll do everything we can, okay?" 

Blair nodded, trying to find confidence that their best would be good enough. They both threw on clothes and headed out the door. 

"It's a good thing the knee's better, so I can at least keep up with you on this one. I know it was getting frustrating," Blair said. 

Jim stopped in the doorway, taking Blair by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, the most ferocious expression Blair had ever seen on his face. "I was never frustrated with you, Blair. I was terrified...because you weren't healing and I couldn't help you. It was sheer, fucking _hell_ watching you limp every time you walked, seeing you in pain, knowing it was because I didn't protect you the way I should have. And I thank God you're better. _I_ thank God. Me. Jim Ellison. But if your knee hadn't healed, then I would have walked at _your_ pace for the rest of our lives, whatever it took to be by your side, because that's the only place I ever want to be. You got that, Chief?" 

Blair stared into his lover's face with wide eyes. "Yeah. I got it, Jim. I just don't know what to..." 

"Just kiss me," Jim demanded. 

Blair smiled and kissed his partner's lips. "Let's go save Walter," Blair said as he pulled back, the urgency returning. 

Jim nodded, and they hurried out to the truck. 

* * *

It looked like some kind of military maneuver, patrol cars everywhere, the TAS guys outfitted in black kevlar, armed to the teeth, grim and determined, waiting for word from the hostage negotiator, ready to move in at a moment's notice. Blair couldn't help panicking, even though he knew he should have faith in the TAS officers. After all, they were highly trained professionals. But his intuition told him that something really awful would happen if the situation didn't end peacefully. 

"Hang in there, huh, Chief?" Jim said, a hand on his shoulder, clearly aware of Blair's jumpy pulse. 

"Sorry, man. I'm just kind of worried here, you know?" 

"I know." The look on Jim's face clearly said that he'd like to do more to comfort his lover than just pat his arm, but didn't dare with half the CPD looking on. 

"I'll be fine. Let's just find out what's going on." 

"There's Simon. We can get the story from him." 

"Right behind you, big guy." 

Simon had taken up a position near the front, with Captain Fitzgerald of the Tactical Assault Squad and another officer, talking on a cell phone, whom Blair presumed must be the hostage negotiator. 

"Simon!" Jim said. "What's the status?" 

"Jim, I didn't expect you to come down here." 

Jim looked at Blair and then back at Simon. "It's our case, sir. We ought to be in on this." 

Simon arched an eyebrow at them, certain there was more to it than that. There always was when it came to Ellison and Sandburg. But it was the middle of a crisis, and he didn't have the time or the inclination to find out what it was. "We've got over five hundred people in there. Standing room only. And a lone gunman with a single semi-automatic pistol, as far as we can tell." 

"What's he after?" Jim asked. 

"Revenge, unfortunately. It appears to be personal between him and the reverend. He's threatening to kill the minister if he doesn't confess to being responsible for the death of the man's wife." 

Blair shook his head vehemently. "No way, man. I know Walter. There's no way he's responsible for anyone's death." 

"Sandburg, I'm not even going to ask how you know this man so well, when he was the prime suspect in a homicide until very recently." 

"So it was the gunman?" Jim asked. 

"It appears so. He's been pretty incoherent on the phone, but from what Jensen, the negotiator, can piece together the guy came looking for the minister at the church, saw the Randolph boy at the altar. With the kid's back turned to him, the guy mistook him for Harker, went into a rage and picked up the closest thing at hand, which just happened to be an extremely heavy silver candlestick. Again, unfortunately." 

"Simon," Blair said, stepping forward. "You can't let the TAS storm the place. Walter's the most persuasive guy on the planet. We just have to give him enough time to talk the guy out of it." 

"Sandburg, I want to see this end without bloodshed as much as anyone else, but we can't leave five hundred innocent people in there with a guy who's not operating with a full deck. And besides, it's not my call alone. Fitzgerald is getting itchy." 

"But Simon, you know those guys and their penchant for shooting..." 

Jim held up a hand. "Chief? May I? Simon, Sandburg is right. If the TAS goes in, there _will_ be shooting. Let us try first." 

Simon sighed heavily and gave them both that exasperated look of his. "All right. But I can't promise how long I can give you." 

"Great!" Blair said. "So what are we going to do, Jim?" 

"We need to find a way in," he said and turned to Simon. "Have we got a map of the building?" 

"Yeah. Gozalez, let's get those blueprints over here." 

Jim took the plans and quickly scanned them. 

"According to this, there's a separate entrance from the outside that leads to the organ loft." 

"Reverend Cleveland told me it's closed for renovation," Blair told them. "They have an old time pipe organ that needs one of its metal pipes replaced." 

Jim looked thoughtfully at the map. "It's just one guy, and he's hardly a professional. I can get up there without him realizing it and monitor the situation with my senses. If it gets out of hand, I can take out the perp with a clean shot." 

Blair bounced enthusiastically, something he hadn't done in a quite a while. "That could definitely work, Simon. You just have to give us a chance." 

"Us, Chief? I don't think so. It's way too dangerous for me to take you in there with me." 

Blair set his jaw, showing Jim that he, too, could be stubborn. "You need me, big guy. If you're going to focus on the shot, you need me there to keep you from zoning." 

"No way. Do you know what it would do to me if..." 

"That's enough," Simon said sternly. "I hate to say this, but Sandburg's right here, Jim. If you're going to do this, you'll need to take him along. I can't risk anything happening to you or those people in there if you wig out with your senses." 

"But sir..." 

"That's the way it's going to be, detective. Either you go in with Sandburg, or we let the TAS take care of it." 

Blair took hold of Jim's sleeve. "Please, Jim..." 

Jim looked back and forth from Blair's puppy dog eyes to Simon's uncompromising expression, terribly torn. 

"Fine. But you wear a vest," Jim finally said, his voice deadly serious. 

"Just as long as you do." 

Jim scowled at him, but put on the kevlar just the same. 

Captain Fitzgerald joined them, looking none too happy. "Ellison. Captain Banks clued me in on your plan. You stay in constant communication. If there's any commotion, we're coming in. You got it?" 

"Got it, Captain," Jim answered, in his chilliest voice. 

"I'm not even going to comment on sending in a civilian." 

"Captain Banks cleared it," Jim said. 

Fitzgerald shook his head. "What kind of operation are you guys running over in Major Crimes?" 

"One that gave us the best arrest record in the city last year," Jim said, answering the challenge, putting his hand on Blair's back to guide him over to the entrance to the organ loft. 

"You ready to do this, Chief?" Jim asked, leaning in close so only Blair could hear him. 

"Yeah, big guy. As ready as I'll ever be." 

"You don't have to, you know." 

"Yes, I do. And we both know it." 

Jim watched him thoughtfully and then just nodded. Officers had already managed to unlock the door, and Jim and Blair slipped in, as quietly as possible, making their way deliberately and silently up the narrow, curving set of stairs. 

The organ loft was a tiny space, just large enough for the organist really. Jim took up a position in which he could see down into the sanctuary, but go unnoticed by the gunman. Blair kneeled beside him, squeezed tightly against the wall. 

Witnessing the change in the church's atmosphere pained Blair. It seemed difficult to believe it was the same place where he'd had such a profound, life affirming experience. Soft sounds of distress floated up from the sanctuary, and the electric pulse in the air this time was terror, not anticipation. The gunman held Walter from behind, his arm around the minister's neck, holding him in place, the gun aimed at his head. He kept yelling at the people in the congregation to be quiet, not to move, or he'd shoot. 

"Okay, Jim, can you filter out the other people's vital signs and focus on the guy with the gun?" 

Jim closed his eyes for a moment and listened. The gunman was ranting on and on about how the minister hadn't helped his wife, and he tracked that voice, using it to zero in on the heartbeat attached to it. 

"I got it," he whispered to Blair. "The pulse is elevated, like you'd expect, but it's not off the chart. He's breathing fast, but not hyperventilating. He seems to still have something of a grip on himself." 

"Great, Jim. That's just great. Okay, can you focus on smell? What does that tell you?" 

"Agitated...anxious...afraid... angry, but it's holding steady. I don't think he's on the verge of doing anything crazy. At least not yet." 

"Well, that's good news at least. What can you see from the muscle tension?" 

"He's holding onto the gun like it's his last hope, but the trigger finger is loose. Right now, he's not thinking too seriously about pulling it. Of course, that could change at any minute." 

"Okay, I'm going to call Simon and tell him all that. Work on getting a lock on the guy, just in case things deteriorate." 

"Gotcha, Chief." 

Blair pulled out the phone, called Simon and updated him on the current situation. 

"Keep this line open, Sandburg. I want to know everything right as it goes down." 

"Will do, Simon." 

For the next twenty minutes, the two of them stayed crouched there, Jim keeping his senses trained on the hostage taker, keyed in to notice even the most minute physiological change, gun trained to take him out if necessary, before he could harm Reverend Harker or anyone in the congregation. Blair kept his attention on Jim, ready to snap him out of a zone at the first sign of one, both of them listening as the gunman raged on and Walter tried to reason with him. 

"I brought my wife to you. I begged you to help her, and you _didn't_. You bastard. You _let_ her die. It's all your fault, and now you're gonna pay." 

"I'm willing to face the consequences, Roy, but these people have done nothing. They're completely innocent. I know you don't want to hurt them. Why not let them go?" 

"No! They're my witnesses. I need them to hear you confess what you did. Then I can finally end it. But first I want everyone here to know you for the hypocrite you are." 

"Roy, I really am so sorry about your wife. I feel your loss. Let me try and help you through your pain." 

"Like you helped Martha? You want to put me in the grave, too? Is that it, _Reverend_?" 

"I did the best I could for Martha," Walter said gently. "I promise you. But no amount of healing work can take away the fact that people do die, Roy. It's part of God's plan, just like living is." 

"Well, now you're gonna die," the man snarled. "That's _my_ plan." 

"Do you remember whose idea it was to come to me in the first place, Roy? It was yours, wasn't it? Not Martha's." 

Roy's face turned red with fury. "She wanted to come! She wanted a cure. She was just afraid of getting her hopes up and having them all dashed again. She'd already been through so much." 

"Is that really true? Are you sure it wasn't more than that?" 

"What are you saying? That she wanted to die? Don't you dare try to lay blame on her, you bastard, when you're the one who killed her." 

Blair watched Jim tense, his finger tightening on the trigger, reacting to Roy's agitation. Blair related the turn of events to Simon as quietly as possible. 

"No, Roy, the last thing I would ever do is blame Martha for anything. She did absolutely nothing wrong, and even though she wanted nothing more than to live, cancer ate away her strength and took away her joy in living. By the time she got to me, she knew her death was inevitable, and she was tired of fighting, as anyone would be. She just wanted it to be over." 

"She was _sick_. You should have helped her anyway. You should have done something. She was in no state of mind to be making those kinds of decisions for herself. But you did _nothing_. You just let her give up." 

"Our lives are our own, Roy. They belong to us like nothing else does. There's not a force of will, not any kind of magic, in this whole great big universe that can make somebody live when they don't want to. By the time Martha came to me, she'd already seen it, the Glory waiting for her, and there just wasn't any turning back from that." 

Tears slid down Roy's cheeks. His finger lightened on the trigger, his hold on the gun slackened. Blair could feel Jim relax beside him. "How could she do that? How could she leave me? She was all I had, all I ever wanted. Why wasn't I enough to make her want to stay?" 

Walter's face shone with compassion. "Spirits wear out, Roy, just like bodies do. There's only so much suffering any poor soul can withstand. And Martha, God bless her heart, had more than her fair share of it. Her decision was not about leaving you. She loved you very much. The light of that love practically glowed off her for anyone to see. But she recognized that it was her time, and she accepted it. And you've got to accept it too, for your own sake and for Martha's. She'll not rest easy until you let her go." 

Roy hesitated a long moment, deciding, and then lowered the gun, his shoulders shaking. "I miss her so much." 

Walter moved forward, easing the gun out of his hand, putting his arms around the distraught man to comfort him. "I know you do. And I promise you there's no such thing as the end. You'll be with Martha again." 

Jim and Blair both ran down the stairs and through the door that led into the sanctuary, Blair talking to Simon the whole time, giving him the good news. The people in the pews began to get to their feet, milling about, still stunned, confused about what they should do next, although a few people had started for the exits. 

As they neared the front of the church, Blair caught Jim's arm. "Please, can we give them a moment?" After a slight hesitation, Jim nodded. 

Jim and Blair, along with the rest of the congregation, watched in silence and solemnity as Walter held the sobbing man, letting him finally cry out his grief. The preacher softly hummed an old gospel song, one that had comforted generations of mourners. 
    
    
    **There's a land that is fairer than day.
    And by faith we can see it afar.
    For the Father waits over the way,
    to prepare us a dwelling place there.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.**
    

Then the most amazing thing happened...the people stopped leaving the church. They returned to their pews, joined hands with loved ones and began singing along with the reverend, very softly at first, only a few tentative voices here and there, soon joined by more, which grew stronger, swelled out across the aisles, until the air was full and alive with the resonance of that bittersweet old hymn. 
    
    
    **We shall sing on that beautiful shore,
    the melodious songs of the blessed;
    And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
    not a sigh for the blessing of rest.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.**
    

The TAS officers stormed through the doors, their automatic weapons drawn, and even they stopped short, trying to get the perp in their sights, just in case, but finding it difficult with the minister so close to him. The whole situation confused them completely, unlike anything they'd ever seen before. They kept their weapons drawn, but didn't move to the altar, waiting, out of respect, until the song was over. 
    
    
    **To our bountiful Father above,
    we will offer our tribute of praise,
    for the glorious gift of His love
    and the blessings that hallow our days.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.
    In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.**
    

Finally Roy pulled back, brushing away the last of the tears. "I'm real sorry about what I did. I'm so ashamed for hurting that boy," he said, hanging his head. 

Walter nodded. "I know you are. You've got to hold on to your faith now to get through this. I'll come to the station with you and make sure you get a good lawyer." 

Roy kept his eyes glued to the floor. "I don't deserve that." 

Walter put his hand on the man's back. "The Lord said that in as much as you have done it unto these the least of my brethren so you have done it unto me. Everybody deserves help. That's what that means." 

Roy shook his head. "I don't have that kind of faith, Reverend. Never did. I believe in what I can touch and feel. And without my Martha..." 

Before anyone could react, Roy reached for the gun again, which Reverend Harker had laid on the podium. The desperate man aimed it at his own temple this time, intending to kill himself. But the minister lunged at him, grabbing his wrist, turning the gun away from his head just in time. 

There was a loud, sharp crack as the gun went off, and the crowd screamed and fell to their knees en masse. Jim's only thought was for Blair. He was right to worry, since the bullet was headed directly for his Guide, on a trajectory that would hit him in the head or the face, the kevlar vest no protection. It was the warehouse all over again, only this time Jim was there to protect his partner. He pushed Blair to the ground, as the bullet whizzed harmlessly overhead, embedding itself in a nearby wall. As Blair lay on the floor with Jim's sheltering body over him, he felt something click into place, the cosmos fall into alignment, the final step of the miracle completed. It was as if the moment of the blast had been relived, righted, healed. The natural order of the universe had been restored. The Sentinel had protected. The Guide was safe and sound and whole in his Watchman's arms. 

Walter managed to get the gun away from Roy again, and they were soon surrounded by a black sea of TAS officers, ordering Roy to the ground, slapping on the cuffs, dragging him away. 

Jim helped Blair up and ran his hands over his partner's shoulders and arms, trying to reasure himself that Blair was still in one piece. 

"I'm okay, big guy." 

"Thank God, Blair. Look, I'm sorry. I have to..." 

"I understand." 

"I wish I didn't..." 

"I know." 

"I'll make it as quick as I can." 

"I'm going to stay with Walter. He's had one hell of a rough day. I think he could probably use a friend about now." 

"I'll be back as soon as I can." 

"I'll be waiting." 

That made Jim smile, much to Blair's delight. He watched his partner hurry down the aisle, to finish wrapping up the case. 

Walter sat slumped on the step leading up to the altar, and Blair sat down beside him. They were both quiet, Blair following Walter's lead, sensing his need to process what had just happened before speaking about it. CPD officers quickly and efficiently cleared the congregation from the church. It was the most organized post-hostage scene Blair could ever have imagined, the hushed stillness of the church somehow keeping everyone calm and orderly. 

"Are you okay, Blair?" Walter finally asked, his voice soft and shaky. "My God, I hate to think what almost happened to you." 

Blair put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine, man. Luckily, I have Jim looking out for me. But how are you doing? You okay?" 

"I guess so. I mean, I'm still in one piece, and nobody else got hurt. I suppose that's cause to be thankful." 

"Absolutely. You know you really amaze me, man. People say I have the gift of persuasion. But you, you really know how to reach people. That guy, Roy, he really heard you. That's the only reason it ended the way it did." 

"But I didn't see it, Blair. I never had any idea. Oh, I mean I knew he was very close to his wife, that he took her death hard. But I sure didn't know he blamed me for it." 

"How could you have known? It was an irrational reaction borne out of grief. There's no predicting that kind of thing." 

Walter smiled at him sadly. "But I usually have a pretty good sense of what people are feeling. If only I'd realized three months ago when Martha died, that poor boy would never have been killed. That makes me responsible for his death in a way." 

"When you got into that barroom fight, was it anyone else's fault?" 

"Course not." 

"Then how is this any different? Roy could have made any of a hundred other choices. He didn't. He let the emptiness rule him, the way you used to. If there was no one else who could have cured your emptiness but you, and no one to fix it for me but me, why would you have been able to do that for Roy?" 

Walter smiled at him tiredly. "You know, Blair, you may be _too_ good a listener." 

Blair patted his back. "What can I say? I never forget anything. But you know what's really awful, man? Someone died, and I feel terrible about that. But what I really feel is a shame is that this is how the revival ended. I mean, there was just such a great feeling in the air, and now it's gone." 

Walter shook his head. "There's nothing to feel bad about in that. It is the most amazing, miraculous change that happens. I'm just so glad you felt it, Blair. And trust me, it's not gone. No matter what happened here today. It went home with all the people who came to heal and witness and pray and celebrate. It's been transplanted into their everyday lives. It's a part of them now." 

"So what are you going to do now that it's over?" 

"I've got another congregation waiting for me, down in Portland. But first, I need to go to the station. Try to help Roy the best I can. Make sure he'll be all right to face all that's coming down the road." 

"Oh," Blair said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Of course, he'd always known that Walter would move on. That's just what he did. But still, he couldn't help feeling the loss. 

Walter put a hand on his arm and said gently, "I'll miss you too, Blair. But when I accepted this path in life, I knew it would make me a vagabond. I have to go where I'm needed. There are always more people who need helping." 

Blair nodded, understanding, but still sad. 

Jim approached, clearing his throat to let them know he was there, so he wouldn't overhear or interrupt anything. Blair had to smile. He could tell by the look of concentration on Jim's face that he was doing everything in his power not to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

"Reverend Harker, we've taken Mr. Madison down to central booking. It'll take about an hour to process him through the system, but you can talk to him after that. I left word for the uniforms to let you in to see him. I just had a feeling you'd want to." 

Walter nodded. "Yes, detective, I sure do. I appreciate your arranging it for me." 

"No problem. And I just wanted to say..." 

Walter held up a hand. "That's not necessary, Detective Ellison." 

"Yes, it is," Jim insisted. "When I'm wrong, I say it. I _was_ wrong about you. And...well, thanks, you know, for what you did for Blair. And good luck, you know, with it all." 

Jim held out his hand, and the minister shook it. "Thanks, Jim. And helping Blair, well, if all my work was that easy, I'd have it made. He did the hard part all by himself. I just kind of pointed him in a direction." 

"Well, thanks," Jim said, shifting a little uncomfortably. "Um, Blair, I guess I'll just..." He pointed toward the back of the church. 

"I'll be there in a minute, big guy." 

Jim nodded and headed for the vestibule just outside the sanctuary to wait for him 

"Well, Walter, I guess it's good-bye," Blair said. 

Walter nodded. "I'm real glad to have known you, Blair. You take good care of yourself. And your partner too." 

Blair hugged his friend. "Count on it, man. And you take care of yourself." 

"You know, Blair, the new growth in your soul looks good on you. I'm glad to see you finally got your heart's desire." 

Blair blushed down to his toes, but couldn't keep the happiness from shining through. "Um...thanks, man." 

"And I see a path's been cut into the heart of the jungle," he said, nodding his head in Jim's direction. "That's very good." 

"Walter, I can't tell you how much I appreciate..." 

But the preacher held up his hand, unwilling to accept Blair's thanks. "That's the secret to healing, Blair. No magic involved, just the strategic application of energy. To speed up what would have happened anyway." 

Blair nodded, his face lighting up, understanding at last. He smiled, bidding his friend good-bye. He would never forget this man, who was the catalyst that had brought him the best blessing he ever could have hoped for. 

Blair walked back up the aisle, to where Jim was waiting for him. He couldn't help smiling at that. Jim was waiting for him. There was no better feeling in the world than that. 

He joined his partner by the door. Jim told him, "Megan's going to take care of booking him. Simon said we could head off, since we weren't supposed to be working today anyway." 

Blair nodded. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, looking him over, concern written all over his face. 

He smiled at his partner to reassure him. "Never better." 

And it was true, so very true. 

Jim looked relieved and put a hand on his back, guiding him out the door, down the stairs, to the truck. They both got in and headed home, realizing they had witnessed miracles, understanding that their love was the greatest blessing of all. 

* * *

NOTES 

Revised Standard Version of the Bible: "There is none to uphold your cause..." Jeremiah 30:13 "Health and soundness are better..." and "There is no wealth better..." Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach (Sir.) 30:15 and 16 (Apocryphal) "My grief is beyond healing..." Jeremiah 8:18 "He lifts up the soul and gives light..." Sir. 34:17 (Apocryphal) "Take delight in the Lord..." Psalms 37:4 

Blest Be The Tie That Binds, lyrics by John Fawcett, 1782. Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow (Doxology), lyrics by Thomas Ken, 1674. In The Sweet By and By, lyrics by Sanford Fillmore Bennett, 1868. 

(The End)


End file.
